The Abroad Saga
by Nightfall
Summary: Stepping out of the comfort of English soil, we follow characters on their journeys. Both physical and mental. A series of stories about different characters in all corners of the world. Chapters are in order of their first published dates on livejournal.
1. Cherry Blossoms

Title: **Cherry Blossoms**

**Author: **Nightfall aka Nightfalltwen

**Word Count: **5200

**Pairing(s): **Terry Boot/Susan Bones

**Summary: **A chance meeting leads to taking chances. Who knew it could work like this?

**Rating: **M (R)

**Warnings: **Should I warn for romance? And fragments? Oh how I like the sentence fragments.

**Author's Notes: **Written for the 2007 **smutty_claus **exchange at LJ. **THIS FIC HAS BEEN EDITED DOWN TO A LEVEL. YOU WILL HAVE TO GO TO MY FIC JOURNAL FOR THE FULL VERSION**. Artistic licence abound. I took liberties with some of the laws and regulations of Japan.

******

_Christmas Day - 2007_

For those who adore Christmas, and even some that don't, there's a moment on Christmas morning just before waking up where your stomach pinches in excitement. It's like your body knows from all the happy childhood memories and all the feasts and biscuits and presents, it knows that it's a special day. The twinge is what woke Susan that morning. Her eyelids fluttered open to an unfamiliar room with unfamiliar sunlight threading through the sheer curtains that fell gently across the window.

Stretching briefly, she rose from the bed and after a moment of searching, she found a dressing gown on the floor. It was far too big for her petite frame, but it would do for now. She threw it over her shoulders and went to the window, pulling back the filmy fabric.

Susan had never seen Tokyo from this angle or from this distance. The sprawling metropolis was a tangle of cement and high rises stretching out forever and possibly much more than that. She could make out the Tokyo Tower beyond the smog or low clouds. The window ran from floor to ceiling and Susan nudged her toes up against the cold glass, peering down as far as she could.

Twenty stories up? Perhaps.

Long arms wrapped around her shoulders and for a brief moment Susan shut her eyes against the angled cold of the city. His hair brushed her cheek as he dipped his head to nuzzle the junction between her neck and shoulder. There was a sigh. It escaped both their lips.

"Merry Christmas, my wife."

***

_Christmas Eve, Eve - 2007_

The Portkey office in Ueno was a messy gaggle of patrons, waiting for shoes, or paperclips or coffee mugs or whatever else might serve as magical transportation, to be distributed. Either that or, as Susan Bones was attempting to do, find out if there were any spaces left for England-bound travellers. The sweaty press of people was starting to get to her, this was worse than that one time she'd taken the London Underground to the Ministry to get her Apparition licence.

The last three months, Susan had been on assignment through the Department of Magical cooperation as one of the heads of security for the Magical Ambassador to Japan. The job had worn her ragged; Victor Ludley was not the most casual people to work for and now it was the twenty-third of December and he'd decided that some of his staff, Susan included, were dismissed for three days over Christmas.

"All in the spirit of the season," Susan muttered under her breath as she stepped up to the wicket and placed all her identification as well as her international papers on the counter.

"Sorry," said the clerk, reading over her application with his square framed specs perched on the tip of his nose. "All international travel fill up this morning. Japanese Wizarding Law states that . . ."

"I know what Japanese Wizarding Law states," Susan snapped and started stuffing her papers back into her satchel. The Japanese people baffled her. Especially the wizarding society. Forty years ago, someone decided that Japan was too populated for Wizards to travel safely by portkey. Someone could see and thus a cap had been placed on how many people could travel internationally from the country. She'd known it was too good to be true. Three days off? A chance to get home for Christmas? Right.

The clerk shuffled through his files. "I can offer wonderful shoe that will take you to Hokkaido."

Susan gave the young man with the square glasses an exasperated look and slung her satchel over her shoulder. "What on _earth _am I going to do for Christmas on Hokkaido? I'm English. I wanted to go home to _England_. Never mind. Forget it."

Turning on her heel, Susan pushed through the thick crowd. There were people kissing their goodbyes and colourfully wrapped presents and it all made Susan sick inside because she was going to spend the holiday sitting in her little flat with no one but Stanley, the red Betta she'd gotten a few weeks ago. Normally, Susan loved Christmas. It was her absolute favourite holiday. The carols, the decorations, the baking, she loved it all.

"I guess this year I'll just have to hate Christmas," she grumbled and stuffed her hands into knitted gloves.

"Well don't say _that, _Susan." A distinctly British voice spoke from behind.

Susan turned so fast that she nearly fell over. The voice came from a young man standing just outside the door of the office. He was tall, in that "one would have to stand on a stool to look him in the eye" kind of way. Or at least Susan would have to, as her height was on the smaller side. She'd only just barely scraped into the Hitwizard program after leaving school due to that one aspect of her physical features. But back to the young man. He wasn't initially recognisable, but he was familiar. She wracked her brain for a name, but came up blank. He certainly wasn't someone she'd been working with these past few months, but yet she _knew _that she knew who he was.

"I'm sorry?" she managed after a moment of gawping at him.

"You probably don't remember me. It _has _been almost ten years," he said with a half smile and flicked his longer fringe out of his eyes with a slight jerk of his head. "Terry Boot. I was in Ravenclaw the same. . ."

"Year we were at Hogwarts," finished Susan with a grin, one of the first she'd cracked in a few weeks. "Took me a moment there. God, I haven't seen . . . well we already said that, but it's been yonks. How have you been? What are you doing in Japan? How did you know it was me? Are you stuck here too?"

Terry placed his duffle on the ground between his feet and held out his hand, counting on his fingers. "Okay hang on. One, I've been doing very well. I'm a new resident at St. Mungo's in their Magical Malady ward, which leads to two, I'm here for a medical conference with regards to new spells for faster treatment." He paused for a moment and looked at her intently. "_You_ haven't changed in the slightest, so in answer to number three, as soon as I heard your voice and you saying you were from England and the fact that you're not blonde so you couldn't possibly be Hannah Abbott. . . I knew it was you. And just so you know, I'm keeping track of all these questions. You'll be grilled just as much."

Susan waited for him to continue, as there was one question left, but when he didn't, she tucked her hands into her pockets and raised her eyebrows at him, repeating herself. "Did you manage to get yourself stuck here for the holidays then?"

"You could say that, yes," he answered after a pause then flashed her a goofy grin that seemed to just fit so naturally on his face. "You can completely refuse if you want, since this chance meeting is not something that happens every day, but do you want to go grab a drink?"

***

"So after nearly six months of dating, Luna and I decided we were both too Aquarian for each other and amicably parted ways. Last I heard she was seeing some relation of Newt Scamander. . . grandson or nephew or something like that." Terry lifted the cup of green tea to his lips and shifted his long legs under his body. "Though I have to say, I've never looked at things the same way since. She was pretty good at thinking outside the box and I like to think she was the one who got me into being spontaneous."

Susan leaned on her elbow, propping her chin against the heel of her hand. The clock on the wall said they'd been here for nearly two and a half hours drinking tea and talking about the last ten years. Twilight was starting to bleed through the windows (as much as twilight could bleed though a window) and the servers were shuffling past their room with light twittering coughs to signal that the two of them had begun to overstay their welcome.

Susan didn't want to leave. Terry's company was the one good thing to come out of this random "three days off for the holiday" and for the first time in a long time she felt like she was talking to a friend instead of just another co-worker that just so happened to speak the same language as her so communication was by default. The servers made another round past their table to ask if they needed another pot of tea. Susan shook her head.

They could take a hint.

"Are you doing anything tomorrow, Terry?" She asked after dropping enough yen to cover the drinks exactly. She wanted to leave a gratuity for having over extended the normal amount of time, but the officer in charge of cultural instructions when she'd first arrived made sure to insist that people did not tip in Japan.

"Well . . . I thought since I'm here now, I might as well have a look around the city a little bit and get some souvenirs for when I go home." Terry pulled on his long coat. The tassels of his scarf brushed against his knees and it was then that Susan noticed the colours. Blue and bronze. He still had, and used, his school scarf after all this time.

She smiled. "Would you mind company? I've got three days to myself and no chance to get back to England for Christmas."

***

_Christmas Eve -- 2007_

"I think it's time you gave in and admitted defeat, Terry," Susan poured him another sake and sat back on her feet, her knees digging into the mattress. "You've been trying to put together that robot dragon since we got back and I don't think you're any closer to finishing."

Terry peeked over the edge of the massive instruction sheet, all of which was written in Japanese. He pulled a face at her and reached a hand out to pick up the small cup. "It's a dinosaur, Susan. Not a dragon." He held up the box and danced it back and forth in front of her. "See. No wings. No fire breathing." Tossing the box aside, he tackled the multitude of plastic pieces in front of him. "I've never been thwarted by instructions before and I'm not about to start now. I can _do _this."

They'd spent the day being tourists. Tackling various shrines and towers and shopping districts, eating sushi without knowing what exactly it was made of, talking of their pasts and things they'd like to do once they were financially able to. Susan's biggest wish was to buy herself a small cottage by the sea where she could go listen to the ocean every morning. Terry's was to continue to travel the world and see things he'd never seen before and do things he'd never done.

Susan flopped back on the large bed in his hotel room, staring at the ceiling fixture of the Tokyo Grand Hyatt. He was a lot closer to his goal than she was to hers, which was a bit disappointing as they were the same age. Obviously she was in the wrong profession. Overworked and underpaid.

So many things were flitting through her mind. Terry spoke of his friends and their families. This dragonsaur-thing was for the daughter of one of his housemates and three times he had mentioned how much Mandy's little girl was going to love it. How many of Susan's housemates had she kept in touch with? Hannah sent a yearly Christmas card. She saw Ernie at the Ministry every other day but both of them were so busy getting to their respective work that she didn't ever get a chance to really talk with him. Justin? Heaven knows what he was up to these days. Last she heard he was still in Canada.

Puffing out her cheeks, Susan frowned. So much for loyalty in Hufflepuffs. It seemed she'd forgotten how to do that these days.

"Okay. I know when I've met my match," Terry said after a long moment of staring at the pieces with his brow furrowed. Susan lifted her head and looked at him as he approached the bed and flopped down beside her, turning on his side to look at her, the edge of his mouth curving slightly higher on one side. "Shall we go out and prowl the streets again?"

***

"My mother insists that I'm too picky about the people I date and that I'll become a spinster just like my Auntie Amelia was," Susan shook her head with a wry smile and tucked her hands into her pockets. The weather had turned chilly but not cold enough for snow. Rarely did it snow for Christmas in this part of Japan, or so the young man at the front desk had said. "She's right in that respect. But honestly. . . I don't want to go out with Gus from Magical Transport. He's a complete pillock and does this weird snuffle thing with his nose when he drinks tea."

Terry burst out laughing and nudged her with his elbow as they turned down a street that Susan couldn't name. They'd gotten further and further from the hotel, but due to the fact that it _towered _over the city, she figured it wouldn't be hard for him to get back there.

"Three times my parents were unquestioningly _convinced_ that I was going to settle down. Once with Mandy, who married a Slytherin from the year above us about . . . Oh I suppose it was about a year after we broke up. Once with Padma Patil, who left me for a job opportunity in New Delhi and then again with Luna," he mused. "Parents have this idea of how things will work. You'll meet the right girl, or bloke in your case, and BANG!" Terry clapped his hands together for emphasis. "Everything will fall into place and they'll be able to relax knowing that grand-sprogs are on the way."

And wasn't that the truth? Susan's mother was forever making little comments about how her sister already had three grandchildren and that she didn't expect to ever have any of her own. They'd had a large argument about that very topic the night before Susan had left for Japan.

"You don't know how right you are about that," said Susan, checking the traffic before they stepped out to cross the road quickly.

Terry gave her a goofy smile. "You should go home with a husband then. Shock them half to death. Might get your mother off your back."

Susan found herself laughing at that. "Oh and I suppose I should just walk up to some bloke here and say 'hey would you mind coming home to England with me so I can get my mother to stop pressing me to get married?' I don't even know how to say that in Japanese."

"Say it in English?"

"To who?"

He gave her a sidelong look and brushed the hair out of his eyes.

"Oh you've got to be joking." Susan's mouth fell open. "You're mad. You're barking _mad, _Ravenclaw."

"Or perhaps the idea is so unbelievably _perfect_ that you can't even really comprehend it just yet." He tugged her into the alcove of a shop front and stooped a bit to meet her eyes at more of her level. "It's a brilliant idea, Susan! Think about it. Your parents want you to find someone. My parents just want me to stick with someone. Ravenclaws certainly weren't working out for me. Dating long-term hasn't helped. Why not just plunge right in and forget about all the beginning bits? The interesting part could come in discovering everything afterward. It really couldn't hurt."

"You've had far too much to drink tonight. Where's all that Ravenclaw Logic I hear all about? Neither of us are Gryffindors. Jumping in feet first? We barely know each other, Terry." Susan's protest didn't sound at all convincing. Maybe because in an insane way, his argument sounded perfectly logical. Perhaps it was the climate or that they'd eaten bad sushi.

"And where is it written that you have to know everything about the person you're marrying?"

"Well . . . You're just supposed to, aren't you? What about an engagement? What about our parents? What about all our friends? And where would we get married anyway?" Susan took a step backwards only to have her back press against the wall of the alcove in which they were standing and couldn't help but notice how impossibly close he was and this was all too strange and why would he just want to propose such a strange thing? "You're not thinking straight. You've not thought any of this through. You can't just ask someone you only just met to be your spouse. You just ca--"

He cut her off with a kiss, cupping her face between his hands, long slender fingers gently spread out on either side of her head. Susan felt her stomach leap up into her throat only to fall directly down to her toes before bouncing back up to somewhere below her ribs where it ought to be. Her heart was racing and his lips were slipping gently and yet possessively across hers. When he drew away there was this overwhelming sense of loss. Like she was completely missing something from her entire being.

She couldn't breathe.

She couldn't remember what she'd been saying.

"We haven't really 'only just met,' Susan. So. Why can't we?" he asked, blue eyes glinting at her.

"I. . . I don't. . . I um . . . I don't know," said Susan, her nose almost touching his. "Do that again. I think it answers a lot of questions."

And he did do it again, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her up, her feet dangling above the cement.

"This is mad," she murmured.

"Brilliantly mad."

***

In early November the government of Japan had passed legislation to allow for quick wedding chapels to appear in the city of Tokyo. This was in direct competition with the city of Las Vegas in the United States. Too many citizens were going abroad, spending their money in another country's economy and Japan wished to open that market to its own citizens as well as visiting tourists.

The trend hadn't taken off just yet; many chapels closed too early.

It was only through pure luck that Susan and Terry came across the Happy Luck Love Chapel (English translation). Decorated in garish pink and red, the chapel boasted signs that said it was the first twenty-four hour chapel in the country, specialising in theme weddings for all imaginations. The receptionist offered the full Klingon Package, complete with Blood Wine served warm and your very own commemorative communicator pins.

It was a whirlwind. The ring was simple and the receptionist notarised the licence. The officiant spoke broken English and the vows were strange. Susan wore winter boots with fur tops that fit over her trousers. Terry still had his long jacket on, his scarf flung over a front pew. It was madness and yet strangely apt. They were spinning in circles and had collided in a spectacularly wonderful twist of fate.

Twice Susan almost asked for it to stop. She didn't even know his middle name. She didn't know if he liked dogs or cats or how he took his tea. Was this really forever and ever?

Both times her thoughts were silenced by him simply smiling at her.

The ceremony, if one could call it that, ended and the witnesses threw handfuls of silk cherry blossoms into the air. Pink petals floated down around them. They caught in Susan's hair and landed on Terry's shoulders. He tugged her close and leaned down to whisper in her ear something that Susan couldn't quite hear over the roar of her blood thundering through her veins. He pressed a kiss to her lips.

***

Susan didn't remember how they got back to the hotel, or how they managed to get some clothes from her flat. Somewhere along the line she'd lost a sock and there might possibly be a pair of knickers hanging somewhere in the city. Summoning things without putting much thought into it would do that. She didn't remember over tipping the bellhop for no reason other than it was Christmas and she had some extra yen in her purse. She didn't remember making an elderly couple stare open-mouthed at what might have been a compromising display in the lift.

Correction. Maybe she remembered _that._

There were little things that she did notice though. Like how his hand held hers the whole way, fingers entwined. Like how he gently traced the column of her throat with his free hand. Like how he managed to get the door of his room open with her arms wrapped around his neck, her lips firmly attached to his. Like how they managed to manoeuvre themselves to the bed without letting go.

She was drunk on circumstance and surprise.

It was all dizzy and upside down and maybe this is what it was like to be a Gryffindor and maybe she was in love but that went against everything she'd ever thought about how it was supposed to go and she couldn't possibly be in love because people just didn't fall in love like this and it went against everything she'd ever dreamed and all those times of jumping around the back garden with a posy of flowers and a bed sheet wrapped around her head, but for not having been able to go home, this was turning out to be one of the best Christmases ever.

The thoughts ran like endless strings of conversation inside her head. No breaths or pauses between.

Stretching out on the large king size, Susan tucked an arm behind her head and looked at Terry who was levitating candles to float them about the room.

"How is this going to work tomorrow?" she asked quietly.

"We can think about that tomorrow," he answered and climbed onto the bed.

She fell into silence and watched his fingertip slowly nudge a button on her shirt from its hole. Did she really just do this? Just fall into bed with him like this? Were they both barking mad for having done what they did?

Perhaps.

But the questions seemed to float away with the lazy circles that the soft pad of his finger made against the skin of her stomach. How long had it been since she'd felt that delicious anticipatory flutter in her chest? Far too long. More buttons followed, more circles were made and Susan's eyes closed when his mouth brushed against her ear.

"I remember you," he said, sparks seemed to dance around the room. Was that uncontrolled magic hers or his? Susan sucked in a breath as his lips travelled further down her neck. Oh she was slipping. "I remember you and your long plait and they way your shoulders hunched crookedly while you studied."

It teetered on the edge of fantasy and Susan reached to his waist to tug the light shirt up. Memories were tricky things and she did remember him from school too, but she couldn't recall if she'd ever studied him in detail. But she played along. In a way.

"You never said anything to me," she answered as they both gently peeled back the clothing on one another, exposing skin and secrets.

"Shy," he mumbled, nudging the strap of her bra from her shoulder and kissing the skin beneath it.

Susan had to smile. "This from the boy who braved abuse from Carrows in seventh year to shout about Harry Potter in the Great Hall. Shy. I don't know if I believe that."

Terry raised his head and rested his chin on her shoulder, "Neither Carrows, nor Potter, were pretty girls. I had no reason to be shy and sweaty-palmed about them. Entirely different situation."

"Is it?"

"Definitely not as terrifying."

"Did you really think I was pretty?"

"Is the Ravenclaw password a skill testing question?"

Susan fluttered her fingertips over his bare chest. There were freckles scattered over his skin and she managed to brush her hands over each and every one. Raising her eyes, she met his gaze. "I really don't know," she said slowly. "Is it?"

Cupping his hand against her hip, Terry tugged her close. "Oh it is."

Susan had never thought of sex as something that could be more than just copulation. Her experience, of course, was fairly limited. The few encounters she'd had were less than impressive and she chalked it up to the whole act as being rather dull. All the romance books had described fireworks and goose pimples and toes curling. Nothing like that had ever happened to Susan.

Until now.

Time seemed to slow to a stop. He braced himself on his elbow, looking down at her and she looked back at him. A pin could have dropped and the sound would have reverberated around them. It was the moment when she thought there would be one last silent question. There had always been a question. Are you ready? Are you happy? Am I doing good? Do you like that? Susan could name all of them.

He surprised her.

"What do you want, Susan?" he dipped his head down and pressed a soft kiss to her nose. "Do you want me to love you?"

At that moment all of her preconceived notions, fears and anything else that might be holding her back or make her doubt completely vanished. She entirely threw everything to the wind and watched it scatter like the blossoms in the wind and the blossoms after the ceremony and instead of an explosion of sound, she could only describe it as a cacophony of colour. She could see herself liking this. And making it work. And she could see the forever in it all.

"Oh yes," she slid her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

***

_Christmas Day - 2007_

"Merry Christmas, my wife."

Susan looked down at the thin band of gold on her finger. She'd asked him the night before what they were going to do once tomorrow had come. It occurred to her then, looking out across the city, that there had to be a reason that they crossed paths in a country where neither one of them had anything in common with the citizens that surrounded them. She wasn't sure if she really believed in fate before all of this happened but it was the only answer that seemed to make sense.

A thought occurred to her.

"Were you really stranded here in Japan?"

"I gave my reservation to someone else," he answered, resting his cheek against the crown of her head. He continued before she could whirl about and ask him why. "There was something about you that compelled me to give it up. I'm going to figure out what it was one of these days." He turned her gently. "We've got a lifetime to figure that out, don't we?"

Susan peered up at him. A smile broke out on her face. Bless him for giving her the choice. "We certainly do."

***

_April - 2015_

Ueno Park was in full bloom and there were hoards of people to view the blossoms on the trees. Away from the crowds, a young girl ran shrieking through the clouds of falling petals, spinning and twirling in what she had declared as magic you could see. Very tall for her age, the little girl didn't look like she was only six and a half years old. Often she was mistaken for eight or nine. Height and maturity would do that. She made sure not to venture far.

"I think I figured it out, Susan." Terry said, keeping his eyes on the little girl as she gathered up handfuls of petals and threw them in the air. "What compelled me to give up my reservation."

Susan looked up at her husband and adjusted the light blanket draped across her shoulder that concealed the baby in her arms. "It only took you seven years? I'm impressed."

"Seven years and three months, two daughters and many happy nights with a brilliant wife who can do the most amazing thing with her ton--"

"Charmer," said Susan with a grin, nudging her elbow against his ribs to cut him off. A high blush stained her cheeks. "Well. . . I'm all ears." She glanced over to the trees and called out. "Charlotte. Not so close to the water."

The older girl came running back with a fistful of flowers she'd pulled from a lower branch of one of the smaller trees, her loose trouser legs flapping in the breeze. She held them out happily, sticking the edge of her tongue through the space where one of her baby teeth used to be. Terry reached out and wrapped his arms around her.

"Daddy!" she squealed and kicked her legs when he lifted her off the ground. "You're squashing me!"

"I can squash you all I want because you're my little Christmas present." Terry kissed Charlotte's cheek and let her loose. She climbed up onto the bench and sprinkled the petals from the bunch of flowers in her hands over Susan's head.

"One day she's going to ask what that means and be utterly mortified that it was the day of her conception . . ." Susan plucked a pink blossom from the edge of the blanket over her shoulder and rubbed it between her fingertips. "So?" she prompted.

He gave her a goofy grin. "Yes . . . the reason. In all its simplicity, it's this: I was standing in the office wishing that I didn't have to go back to England and there you were wanting to go back and I almost gave _you_ my reservation. . . . Except I wanted you to stay and I wanted to have my own reason to stay. . . And know you."

"Love at first sight?" Susan smiled.

"I might have to call it that." He looked to his eldest tossing petals around. "It happened with both Charlotte and Madeline. Love from the moment I clapped eyes on them. It's only fitting that I had the same thing happen with my wife."

Susan chuckled. Seven years later and she'd come to believe in such things as these. Fate had dealt her such a hand that she was willing to bet the whole pot. Being with him, regardless of how they came together was like nothing she'd ever experienced before. Prior to that Christmas she was existing.

December of that year was when she had begun to live.


	2. My Letter To You

**Title:** My Letter To You

**Author:** Nightfall aka nightfalltwen

**Rating:** PG-13

**Wordcount:** 7680

**Pairings/characters: **Zacharias/Hannah, Theodore/Pansy, mentions of Terry/Susan and Neville/Hannah

**Summary:** After years spent away from England, Zacharias Smith comes across a photograph that inspires him to reconnect with an old friend.

**Warnings:** Should I warn for plot? Long-ness? Extensive liberties taken with the country of Norway. Including what sort of things are open during the holidays and whether or not people work. Let's just say that the Wizarding world is different :D

**Author's notes:** Written for the 2008 harry_holidays fic exchange.

*~*~*~*

_24 December 2008_

There was a total of seventy-two ceiling tiles in Zacharias' office ceiling laid out in a grid of eight tiles by nine tiles. Each of these seventy two tiles was a foot square which meant that his office was exactly eight feet by nine feet. Except he'd actually taken the time to measure the walls and noticed that one of them was slanted just slightly making his office space at floor level only eight feet by eight feet and eleven and a half inches.

Normally on Christmas eve, he wasn't expected to be in his crooked little office, but Zacharias had no place else to go and he was putting off going home. Three times his assistant, Astrid, had come in to tell him that he did, in fact, have permission from the Minister to leave and that she was only staying because her husband was working late and would be picking her up at nine.

Looking at the clock, Zacharias puffed out his cheeks and got up from the chair he'd reclined in order to count the ceiling tiles for the eighteenth time that evening. He grabbed his robe off it's hook and left.

Astrid had taken it upon herself to snag up his latest copy of the _Daily Prophet _and was finishing the crossword that he'd started. She chewed on the end of a quill and wrote something in thirteen-down.

"Goodnight, Astrid," he said and double wrapped his muffler around his neck. "Tell your kids Happy Christmas for me."

"I will. Try and enjoy your holiday, Mr Smith," she replied, looking up at him concerned.

Zacharias shrugged. Her concern was expected. He'd been on the receiving end of such looks for a few days now. Especially once people started disappearing from the department for their holidays and he'd remained behind. Sliding his arms into the sleeves of his robe, Zacharias began walking toward the lift. He looped his old yellow and black scarf around his neck. Why he kept the scarf, Zacharias didn't know. Perhaps, in a small way, it was to remind himself that once he belonged to a loyal group of friends.

With a soft ping, the doors to the lift opened. Pansy Parkinson stepped out, tediously pulling each finger from her glove as she did so. If looks could kill... and before Zacharias realised what had happened, she slapped him -- _hard_-- across the face.

"What the_ fuck _Parkinson?" Zacharias shouted, his hand covered the spot she had just attacked.

Pansy glowered at him. "_That_, Smith, is for being one of the biggest idiots I have known since Crabbe and Goyle."

*~*~*~*

_1 December, 2008_

The wind blowing through Norway's Hardangerfjord tossed Zacharias Smith's hair about as he tried to spot the Snitch. Why he had agreed to spending hours out in the blistering cold instead of doing paperwork in his nice, warm office, he couldn't figure out. But Theodore Nott just had this way of making something seem a lot more appealing than it actually was, a trait of Slytherin it seemed, so Zacharias had agreed. The Norwegian Ministry of Magic was putting together a couple of teams for some interoffice games in the spring. All the Chaser spots had been filled on the English-speaking team, so with a lot of pushing on Nott's part, Zacharias had signed up to try out for the Seeker position.

Which was easier said than done.

Theodore came from below, like a bullet, and knocked Zacharias from his broom. With a frustrated shout, he fell fifteen feet into the icy water below. Warming and special insulating charms on his clothing kept the hypothermia at bay for brief periods of time, but didn't stop it all together.

Theodore was hovering above him when Zacharias' head broke the surface of the water. He held a gloved hand out. "You're going to have to keep your eyes open, Smith or you're never going to make Seeker at this point."

"Well it would be a helluva lot easier if you didn't keep knocking me into the fjord every chance you got, which is fucking cold if you hadn't realised!" Zacharias slapped the water with his hand for emphases before taking a hold of Theodore's outstretched arm and hefting himself back onto his broom. "I'm done. I never said I was a good Seeker anyhow. If they don't take me as is, then that's their problem. And if they do? Well..." He shrugged.

The Norwegians were going to clobber them.

Flicking his wet hair out of his eyes, Zacharias pulled his wand from the inside pocket of his jacket to charm it dry before it froze. With a slow loop, the two men flew back toward shore.

Zacharias hadn't always worked for the Norwegian Ministry of Magic. His first position had been as a undersecretary for the International Magical Trading Standards Body in England. It had been alright for a spell. But when the hoopla for the war and its heroes had died down, the Ministry was soon flooded with Zacharias' former classmates. Students that remembered him leaving. That remembered he did not fight. Not one of them asked why. They only whispered.

_He was such a coward. Did you see him run?_

_Some loyal Hufflepuff, right?_

When the opportunity came up for an English-speaking liaison to the Norwegian Ministry of Magic, Zacharias jumped at the opportunity. His superiors, who had noticed the hostility surrounding one of their stronger employees, had no issue with letting him go. They were prepared to sacrifice productivity for harmony. Zacharias was told before he left that once things calmed down in England he was free to return to the British Ministry. There was always a place for him.

That was eight years ago.

"Are you two quite finished bashing around out there like a pair of Neanderthals? Because I am chilled to the bone." Pansy Parkinson, only daughter to the Parkinson family, stood on the cliff where Zacharias and Theodore had left their things.

The two men landed and Theodore strode over to the petite young woman tapping her expensive shoe on the hardened ground. He swept his robe about her and leaned down to whisper something in her ear. It was most likely about sex or something just as equally "too much information." Zacharias ignored them and went to put away his gear. Pansy and Theodore came as a package deal. Acquaintance with one? Mildly tolerated by the other.

It was alright. Not the sort of camaraderie he remembered from school, but at least they weren't shunning him.

Theodore Nott's story was similar to Zacharias'. He had faced similar hostility and rejection from his peers. Having stood on neutral ground during the final battle between Potter and the Dark Lord, Theodore did not seem to be welcomed by either side. The good guys thought he was a fraud and the bad guys renounced him as a traitor. From what Zacharias had gleaned from his conversations with the Slytherin, was that most of Theodore's time had been spent abroad, returning once to England when the shocking news of Draco Malfoy's marriage to the younger of the two Greengrass sisters broke around the country. The society page in the Prophet speculated pregnancy and what Muggles called a shotgun wedding. Zacharias suspected that Astoria just made a better beard for the quite _obviously_ homosexual Malfoy heir than Pansy, who was (after all) rather opinionated and certainly wouldn't take to being just an excuse.

He liked that assumption. It gave him something to argue about with Parkinson.

Hefting the broom across his shoulder, Zacharias turned to face the other two. "Back to the grindstone, yeah?" he asked before apparating back to the Ministry.

He was met with paperwork.

"Your ten-thirty is here, Mr Smith, he'd like to be seen as soon as possible." Astrid Jørgensen, quite possibly the most efficient personal assistant in the entire country, placed a large Manila folder into Zacharias' hand. "I told him that appointments are scheduled for a reason and sent him to wait in the lobby, but he's very insistent." She turned and walked backwards, holding out a letter to Theodore, who had appeared mere seconds after Zacharias. "This arrived while you were out, Mr Nott. The messenger said it was an important request regarding the Princess Ingrid and that they'd need to hear back from you before the day is out."

Theodore was already reading the letter and turning down toward his office before Astrid had finished speaking. Parkinson followed him. Letters from the monarchy took top priority in Theodore's office. What most people did not realise is that the House of Oldenburg was a branch from a very old Wizarding family that could trace its roots back further than any family in Europe. This made it difficult for the royal family, as the King was charged with being Secret Keeper for a nation within his nation and Harold V had done so since his coronation in 1991. As of late, the king had taken ill and arrangements were being made for Crown Prince Haakon to take over the secret. It was a delicate procedure to transfer a secret of such magnitude and the Ministry was working carefully to keep everything running smoothly.

Theodore Nott's jurisdiction fell to the children, making sure their magical outbursts were covered properly, arranging the extensive paperwork it took to send them to the right school. The Princess was only four, but the wheels had been in motion since before she was born.

Astrid continued to walk backwards toward Zacharias' office and speaking while she did so. Something she said she saw on some American show about the government she'd seen on the telly years ago. She called it her walking corridor conversation... Or something. Zacharias couldn't quite remember.

"I've also had the Daughters of the Vikings send word that they wish to have someone enjoyable at their annual luncheon. The Minister decided that it was going to be you this year. They had some rather vocal complaints about the young man sent last year."

Zacharias grimaced. It wasn't that he disliked the DOVs but he didn't relish having to spend an afternoon with Elderly witches wearing war helmets with horns. Before he could respond to Astrid's information she was opening the door to his office and taking his robe to hang it on the hook behind the door.

"Also? Your copy of the _Daily Prophet _arrived while you were out. I didn't do the crossword." She held up her hand as if swearing in court. "I promise."

Zacharias smiled and thumbed through the Manila folder she'd given him. "Thanks Astrid. You're perfection disguised as a normal woman." He turned toward his chair and tossed the forms that needed his approval stamp onto his desk. "Oh and tell my ten-thirty, that I will see him at ten-thirty."

Once she'd closed the door behind her, Zacharias plopped down in his large chair and kicked his feet up to rest on the corner of the desk. He grabbed the paper and flipped through the articles. It was pretty much all the same old thing. Harry Potter this, Harry potter that, Ministry bungles a new resolution, blah, blah, blah. Really the only reason why Zacharias had it sent to him was for the crossword and some vague sense that if he kept the _Prophet _attached to him somehow, he'd never really just left everything behind.

When he got to the last page, Zacharias' feet slipped off the desk and hit the floor with a heavy thunk. There at the top of the page was an article about recent renovations to the Leaky Cauldron. The photograph accompanying it was what surprised Zacharias. Standing off to the side was Hannah Abbott while her ... _husband, _one Mr Neville Longbottom, according to the article flashed grins to the camera. Zacharias frowned. He never claimed to be an expert on body language, but when photo-Neville put his arm around photo-Hannah, her entire body went stiff and she didn't appear to be enjoying herself.

Hannah Abbott had been the only one to remain in semi contact with him since the final battle. Every year for about five years, she sent him both a birthday and Christmas card. Zacharias, at the time, had felt it was just her sense of obligation to him as a Hufflepuff that kept her going. The first year she had done so, he'd opened the cards and read the long letters that she'd written. Spoken in a general manner as if she was addressing everyone. One of those "Dear Everyone" letters. Soon he started tossing the cards away and by the fifth year, he decided that she really didn't need to try anymore, so he sent the birthday card she'd sent back to her and that last Christmas card. Unopened. None came after that.

Gently tearing the photo from the back page, Zacharias wrote a note and folded the two pieces of paper together, placing them in an envelope. He left his office and handed it to Astrid. "Make sure this gets out with the post," he said without explanation.

"Yes, sir."

*~*~*~*

_13 December, 2008_

Zacharias did not receive his owls at home. His owls, as directed by the International Wizarding Postal Authority, were routed to his office because he did not wish to be contacted at his home. That and he spent the majority of his time at work, so owls were more likely to reach him at his office than at his home. Such an arrangement also made it easier on the Muggles in the area. He didn't have to worry about panicked neighbours calling Animal Control because some wild owl had started nesting in his front stoop or on his windowsill.

So it was understandable that Zacharias was baffled that there was a rather fat Barn Owl sitting next to his front window. The animal wasn't particularly intelligent either, turning to peck at the glass with its beak when it was obvious that there was no one inside.

"Stupid bird. I'm going to kill Parkinson," he muttered, shoving his hands deeper into his pocket.

It was a natural to assume that Pansy had sent the letter through some back alley channels, just to tick him off. She liked doing that. Just like she enjoyed belittling his neighbourhood or screwing her little nose up at his choice of clothing. Theodore was tolerable. His long-time fiancée, on the other hand, tended to get under Zacharias' skin. Not that he hated her, in fact it was terribly amusing to continuously poke fun. She'd wrinkle her nose at his menu selection and he would slurp his soup. Not loudly, he wasn't that impolite, but just enough to make her toe start tapping. A sure fire sign that she was starting to become vexed.

Behind him church bells started to peal.

It was then that Zacharias noticed the huddled form on his front step. Owl on his windowsill and a person waiting for him. Even after ten years it still brought up strong suspicions. So slowly Zacharias reached into the inside pocket of his coat and took out his wand. He didn't like being surprised by people and found it entirely too suspicious that anyone would want to seek him out.

They all hated him after all.

Balancing his wand on his forearm, Zacharias approached the figure. "_God Kveld_?" He called out. Then in English. "Good Evening?"

The figure raised its head and rubbed its eyes. In the dark Zacharias couldn't tell if it was male or female. Until she spoke.

"Zach? Is that you?"

He lowered his wand and shoved it back into his coat. Her voice was as familiar as just about everything he knew and remembered from England. Hannah Abbott. Scratch that. Hannah Longbottom, wasn't it? Zacharias' stomach turned over about four times before settling as a floodgate of memories and actual good times (funny, he still had some of those left) came crashing back. Late night parties, cheering for Cedric, Announcing Quidditch matches. All those school memories that he'd kept locked up for ages.

Damnit.

"Hannah, excuse my language, but what the bloody fuck are you doing sitting on my doorstep at night in freezing cold temperatures?"

"I had to s-see you." Hannah wrapped her arms around herself. Even in the dark, he could tell that her lips were tinged blue. Hannah never did have a strong constitution for the winter temperatures. "I d-didn't expect you to be g-gone s-so l-long. Or for it t-t-to be this c-cold."

"It's Norway, Hannah. In December." Zacharias fumbled for his keys and opened the door.

He wasn't about to stand out in the front of his building carrying on a conversation with her when there were heated rooms inside. He held the door open and gestured for her to go ahead. She didn't answer him. Perhaps she was insulted at his comment. He'd not meant for it to come out as though he thought she was stupid. He knew that she wasn't. But Zacharias didn't exactly know what else to say. Once inside, he went and got some water on the stove for tea and offered her a blanket, charmed warm, to wrap around her torso. It wasn't the best solution for hypothermia, but he wasn't about to have them both strip down and curl up together.

She'd only just got there.

*~*

"I'm sorry that I didn't write ahead." Hannah's fingers curled around the warm mug. She set it down and stretched over to reach for her jacket. She pulled out a crinkled piece of paper. She held it out to Zacharias. "You sent all my other letters back so I wasn't sure if you'd even read what I wrote. That's not it."

He unfolded the piece of paper and turned it over. It was the photograph of her and Neville that he'd sent her at the beginning of the month. Everything was too confusing. The owl on his windowsill had just been sent so that she could find his house. She'd refused to answer the question of what if he'd gone on holiday and not been scheduled to return until after Christmas.

"You're the only one who's noticed, Zach," she said. "You wrote and asked why I didn't look happy. It's because I'm not. Neville and I have separated, permanently, except he asked if we'd wait until after the holidays to tell everyone. So it's all fake smiles and avoiding the direct questions."

"And you came to tell me in person?"

She wrung her hands and looked as though she was about to say something different from what actually came from her mouth. "I wanted to see if you were well."

Zacharias knew she wasn't being honest. He might have been ten years away from any Hufflepuff and generally interacted mostly with Slytherins, but he knew her far better than she probably thought he did. And she was lying. In that kind of way where one doesn't tell the whole truth. Just enough to make things seem plausible. He could take the omissions from Theodore and Pansy. It was in their nature to keep things to themselves. But Hannah had never been anything but honest to him. Sometimes to a point where it came across as scolding.

"I am well." Zacharias shrugged and finished the tea in his cup, setting it down on his coffee table. He figured that he'd give her a little time before asking her the question again. "I suppose you might as well tell me what everyone has been up to."

Hannah smiled. It lit up her face completely and Zacharias realised for a moment that he'd actually missed the way it did that. "Susan's got a family now. She got married to that Ravenclaw, Terry Boot, while abroad in Japan last Christmas. Met and eloped over the course of about three days. Shocked the hell out of a lot of us. You know Susan; she was never one to take major risks, but Terry absolutely adores her and they just _fit. _She just had a baby girl." Hannah turned the cup in her hands. "Oh she's the sweetest little thing in the world."

She continued. "Justin's still across the pond. He's got a boyfriend in Toronto that he's wildly in love with and owns a gallery in some trendy area of town. You remember how he liked to paint?"

"I always wondered if he'd come back to England. Guess that's answered my question."

"And Ernie's a junior Minister. He comes by the Leaky to visit, but he's normally so busy that I don't get to talk to him very much."

Zacharias turned his head and looked at the window so she wouldn't see his frown. Ernie Macmillan had been one of Zacharias' closest friends. But that night at the school, that night when he'd left instead of staying to fight, he'd lost Ernie. Zacharias could remember passing Ernie in the corridor at the Ministry and how he wouldn't even look him in the eye. Sometimes it was easier to ignore that which hurt you the most.

"Can't say I'm surprised, Hannah. Ernie was always one of those guys who was going to go somewhere."

"I know."

Zacharias turned around and looked at her with his eyebrows raised. "So. Now that we've got all that out of the way, how about you tell my why you really came."

"Y-you're a friend. I came to visit with you," Hannah said slowly. Almost practised. As if she was trying to convince herself as well as him.

"Bullshit." Zacharias crossed the room and plunked down on the opposite end of the sofa. "I'm sorry, Hannah, but a person doesn't go for ten years being hated by all his former friends for something he couldn't control only to just let them waltz back into his life without questioning it."

Hannah's eyes welled up and she started to do that rapid blinking thing to hold back tears. Immediately Zacharias felt guilty for saying what he'd just said. For a long time he'd convinced himself that he didn't care what everyone else had thought of him. That he'd had his reasons and since most people had chosen to hate instead of demand an explanation, he figured he was better off without any of them. Suddenly he wasn't so sure about that.

"I never hated you, Zach," said Hannah firmly, keeping the waver in her voice to a minimum. "You're the one who cut off contact with me. You sent back my letters and cards. You never wrote. You never visited the Leaky. You never smiled at anyone. You _let _them hate you. For protecting your sister!"

Zacharias opened his mouth, but found he couldn't counter anything that she had said. His shoulder's dropped. "You knew?"

"Of course I knew about her. Anastasia's first year was the only thing you talked about on the train ride up in our sixth year. She was Sorted into Ravenclaw just before.... Before my mum... Before I left. And when Dumbledore's Army was called... I saw you leave with her." She raised her eyebrows. "Alright, yes, you did push aside another first year to get to her, which wasn't very nice. But you were looking out for your sister, which is commendable."

For Zacharias it had always been easier when people hated him because he could hate them all right back. They all made their assumptions of him, especially the Potter crowd. Anastasia had always been his top priority. She wouldn't have fled, something for which his parents would have never forgiven him, had he not gone with her, but in going with her, he'd condemned himself to scorn. Hufflepuff, by all rights, should have been proud of him because he'd remained steadfast and loyal to his family.

"I've been an idiot, haven't I?"

Hannah smiled and reached across the space between them to place her hand on his knee, giving it a pat. "Yes you have and you would've known sooner had you not sent back my letters unopened. In any case, you can start to make it up to me by letting me kip down on your sofa and then show me around your new home."

*~*~*~*

_20 December, 2008_

The week that followed Hannah's arrival had been somewhat filled with exploring. They'd spent a day up beyond the arctic circle to see the Kirkenes Snow Hotel and Zacharias almost had one of the ice glasses filled with vodka stick to his lips. Hannah had come to his rescue, finding someone with a warm drink to melt away the ice. He still had to work, of course, and he did actually feel a little bad that she'd spent those days sitting in the waiting room. Astrid didn't seem to mind, the two chatting about England and how Zacharias never liked people starting his crosswords even though he had no problem with people finishing them.

"She's just what you needed, Mr Smith," Astrid had said one day as she picked up the files he had finished.

Zacharias was inclined to agree. He realised now that he'd sorely missed having good friends in his life. Hannah really did bring all of that back. Infectious laughter. Playful shoving. He even broke out his tattered deck of Exploding Snap cards, a game which is all the more hilarious to play when one has had a few (or more) drinks. When he'd told Astrid all of that she shook her head with a laugh, leaving him in his office, quite perplexed.

"I still can't believe that you're chummy with a couple of Slytherins," Hannah said as she reclined on his sofa, her legs thrown over his lap.

"Eh," Zacharias shrugged, "I suppose they're not so bad once you get used to them. Parkinson's kind of a cow, but as long as you ignore what she says and dish it right back... "

Hannah laughed, her whole body shaking. "I'm sorry, but you used to say: _Slytherins will always be bad and would never be possible to get used to them._ Verbatim." She sat up, reaching over to prod his side with her finger. "You even had it written on the inside of your Potions textbook."

Hannah swung her legs off his lap and shifted around on the sofa so she was closer to him. Zacharias thought of the long study nights in Hufflepuff where everyone sat on each other's laps, pouring over books and notes, passing around bottles of Butterbeer and generally having a good time. The two of them had fallen into a very comfortable familiarity since she'd arrived. Zacharias didn't look twice at the bra drying in his shower or say anything about how his kitchen cupboard was rearranged (the latter change made a whole heck of a lot of sense. He'd always wondered where those tins of sardines had gone!).

"You sure do remember a lot about me Hannah-Banana."

She craned her neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You're actually a difficult person to forget."

Maybe it was the last seven days and the fact that she was always so open with her affection towards others. Maybe it was the glass of wine at dinner. Maybe it was the lights on the Christmas tree that she'd insisted he drag into his flat, getting pine needles all over his carpet. Maybe it wasn't any of those things and was just a really dumb idea that he didn't say no to.

Maybe it was all of the above.

So he turned his head and kissed her.

And this wasn't just a friendly on-the-cheek, _hello, I'm your friend_ kind of thing. Somewhere in his head he heard a voice say 'fuck it' and the next thing he knew his hand was cupping the back of her neck and he was pulling her close and his lips took possession of hers, slanting across them as though he'd kissed her a thousand times before and knew just how he was supposed to kiss her. Hannah fit against him perfectly as if everything had been pre-designed.

A small part of him tried to think rationally about this. It had only been seven days, but suddenly none of that mattered. Because her arms went around his neck and she was kissing him back.

It was all heart racing and lips and tongues and hands buried in hair. It was everything a passionate kiss, which was really more of a full out snog, was supposed to be. There was even music. Granted it was carollers outside on the sidewalk, but there was music!

Zacharias kissed his way down Hannah's neck, nudging aside her blouse because she had these little freckles on her shoulder that he'd only seen once when they were fourteen and it was a Hogsmeade weekend and she was wearing a sundress that had little blue flowers on it. How those details stuck in his head, he didn't know, but he knew there had been freckles. And so desperately wanted to see them again. Her hands bunched in the back of his shirt and somehow she'd managed to climb onto his lap which was creating all manner of delicious pressure.

Hang friendship. He didn't want her friendship. Zacharias wanted more.

Somehow she managed to twist around, still allowing him to nip gently at the junction of her neck and shoulder. She began to kiss her way up towards his ear. He could feel her warm breath on his skin and that excited him far more than he thought it ever could. It was perfect and wonderful and she was doing something with the tip of her tongue that made a groan catch in the back of his throat.

"I love you," she whispered. Barely a breath of a sound passing between them.

Zacharias froze. Literally froze. And the real world just swamped him. This was Hannah. Hannah whom he'd known since she was eleven. Hannah who was far more complicated than anyone expected her to be. This was Hannah. And there was no way. Absolutely no way that she'd...

"Hannah stop."

She lifted her head, Zacharias wanted to capture those swollen lips once again. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No. Yes. No!" Zacharias held his hands away because if he kept them near her, he'd only end up going back to her curves and he sincerely thought that he wouldn't be able to stop after that. "We can't do this. You're married."

A frown appeared on her face. "_Separated, _Zach."

"Separated isn't divorced and what you said... You can't really... Is that what you thought I wanted to hear?" He turned his head. She really needed to get off his lap. "You don't love me."

"_Don't_," Hannah's voice turned sharp as if everything between them had just spun around a hundred and eighty degrees. "Tell me what I feel, Zach. You don't know anything. You've been happily hiding out over here in Norway and you don't know anything."

This had gone all arse-backwards on him. One minute he was enjoying a pretty brilliant snog with an equally brilliant woman and now they were arguing about it and oh why wouldn't she get off his lap? It wasn't that he didn't have feelings for Hannah. She was beautiful and wonderful and he certainly enjoyed the kissing, but she'd only been back in his life for seven days and she _loved _him? It made no sense.

Not that women tended to make a lot of sense in the first place.

"Look, Hannah," he started. She climbed off his lap and crossed her arms, her face turning almost red in anger. "I've liked having you around and all, but this... You've got a _life _in England and..."

She cut him off. "And you call all of this a life for yourself? Work and home? Home and work? That's it? Zach I came all the way here because I hoped.... I wanted to... Oh never mind." She got up from the sofa. "Forget that I even stopped by!"

The next thing that he heard was the bathroom door slam shut.

Zacharias got up from the sofa feeling equally aroused and dejected. In a fit of frustration, he kicked the edge of the coffee table then promptly started hopping on one foot, biting back a number of curses. He limped angrily to his room and shut the door. Things would cool down by morning and then they could have a proper talk about what had just happened.

That opportunity never came.

The next morning, Zacharias exited his room and went straight for the kitchen to start the kettle. He found hot water already waiting for him. When he wandered out into the living room, cuppa in hand, he noticed that Hannah's blankets were already folded neatly, but that she and her things were nowhere in sight. Everything was cold and empty. She'd left before he got up. Not a word of goodbye or a chance for him to apologise for the night before, to explain that he didn't want to ruin things and that maybe there was still a chance for her marriage.

He was angry. How dare she? How _dare _she just waltz back into his life and rekindle their friendship only to take it away from him? It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. With a growl, Zacharias hurled his mug at the wall. It exploded in a shower of steeped tea and porcelain bits. Grabbing his wand, he sent all the broken pieces to the rubbish bin and vanished the brown stain on his wall.

Throwing himself down on the sofa, Zacharias glanced over at the folded blankets. On top sat an envelope. He reached over and picked it up. It was addressed to him, with a full address. The postal stamp on it was from five years ago and scrawled across the front was his own handwriting: _Return to Sender_.

The last card she sent him.

Zacharias turned the envelope over and over in his hands, staring at it. With a sigh, he tore it open and pulled out the card. The front was decorated with holly and snow that magically fluttered across the paper. Inside was a letter.

_13 December 2003_

_Zach,_

_I wish you'd write me back. Or at least give me a sign that you're still at least interested in what I have to say when I write you. I know it isn't often and really I should write more..._

_I don't know what to do. You see, I've been seeing Neville Longbottom for the last few months and it was all well and fine. It got my mind off of things for a little while. A distraction, you know? And then the next thing I know is that he says he's fallen in love with me. Me! And now I'm completely lost because he's gone and slipped his Gran's ring on my finger and asked me to marry him._

_I guess I like him, but there's always been someone else. Sometimes I wonder if you'll ever come around because to be quite honest, I think I've loved you since fifth year and even though you don't speak to me or write me or are in any way in __contact__ with me, I still can't help what I feel. I only wish I'd had the courage (goes to show I was never cut out for Gryffindor) to tell you to your face, but I didn't. _

_And stupid me. I let you of this feeling _

_I want... I need you to tell me that this whole thing with Neville is a bad idea. Everyone else is so happy about it, but (believe it or not) I can't actually make up my mind I still have for you. Maybe you could come back to England and we could just talk or maybe you're already married to some Norwegian beauty that I don't know about and me confessing everything in a letter is just plain stupid. But I... can't switch it off. And I think somewhere deep inside Neville knows that I have my heart invested elsewhere. I think maybe he's just waiting to see if he can win me over in time._

_I don't know if he can._

_Maybe there's a possibility you're not terrified by this letter. But I just need to know if I'm wishing on a dream._

_Please. Just write me back. Even if you don't want me to ever mention what I've just written. I miss you._

_Love,_

_Hannah-B_

*~*~*~*

_24 December 2008_

"So are you going to explain yourself?" Pansy Parkinson stood between Zacharias and the lift, fists pressed against her hips.

"I don't have to explain myself to you, Parkinson. In case you hadn't realised... You and I... We're not friends!" He tried to move around her, but she whipped out her wand and jabbed him in the chest. She certainly had balls. Pulling a wand on a Ministry official inside the building without either a medical or defensive reason, was punishable by time in the holding cells in the basement. Pansy didn't look at all concerned.

"Theodore told me everything. He always tells me everything. And if you're going to end up being someone that he actually cares about, and for that I have no idea why, then I have to be the one to smack you around when you are being an ass!" She backed him up against the wall.

Zacharias had met with Theodore shortly after Hannah had disappeared. The two had shared drinks and conversation and Zacharias had shown the Slytherin Hannah's old letter. There had been many "hmmm's" and a couple of "I see's" but no real answer. Theodore had proposed that perhaps Hannah's feelings were still strong. After all she did keep the letter for five years, didn't she? Zacharias came out of the conversation with about as much clarity as he'd gone into it.

"She told you she was separated from Longbottom. And that she forgives you. _And _that she loves you." Pansy lowered her wand and slipped it back into her sleeve. "So why are you still here?"

"Mind your own business, Parkinson."

"No! Because you don't understand what this is about. This is about her and the fact that you don't know when to just shut up and look at what is right in front of you. Telling you what exactly you're supposed to do. Right now it just happens to be me saying _Stop being an idiot _but four days ago it was her telling you to love her back!"

A small clapping sound came from behind them, Zacharias looked over his shoulder and saw Astrid standing in the doorway applauding. He glared at her. "You're fired!"

Astrid chuckled and lay her jacket over her arm, passing by the two of them on her way to the lift. "You can't fire me, Mr Smith, I'm off the clock and what I applaud in my free time is not a termination offence." She pressed the call button and the doors slid open. "Listen to this woman. And then go to England and beg."

Zacharias wasn't used to this. He wasn't used to women yelling at him or telling him what to do. Alright he was used to Pansy trying to tell him what to do, but he wasn't used to her making sense at all or him wanting to actually listen to her. He leaned against the wall and slid down until he was seated on the floor. At the beginning of the month his life had made sense to him. Yes, as Hannah had said, he only worked and went home. Occasionally he would have supper with the Slytherins, but she'd pretty much hit the nail on the head.

He didn't know that he wanted it to change until he was given the opportunity.

And he'd been too afraid or maybe too blind or maybe just too idiotic to take it.

Pansy crouched delicately in front of him. "Look, Smith. I don't really like you. You're a boorish Hufflepuff with next to no class or breeding. You slurp your soup and you don't know the difference between a Pinot Gris or a Riesling. But the funny thing is... I don't like seeing good love go to waste and I _don't _like seeing women who are ready, willing and able to give away that good love just thrown aside."

Zacharias looked at her and wondered if she was still talking about Hannah or if she was making reference to how she'd been thrown aside by Malfoy. He wasn't about to ask and the look on her face said that she really wasn't about to tell him. He pushed himself up off the floor and stepped around her.

"If she throws me out on my ear, I'm coming back to strangle you," he said dryly.

"You do that, Smith."

*~*

The thing about trying to travel between countries at the last minute on Christmas Eve is that one really can't without resorting to some pretty undesirable things. This meant that instead of a nice quick portkey or a temporary international Floo connection, Zacharias had to resort to theft. Though he didn't mean for it to be permanent and he did leave a note saying that the broom would be returned as soon as possible to the Norwegian office Quidditch team. And he left his name. And he figured he probably had a little bit of time since the Ministry didn't return to work until after New Years.

The flight to England had been cold as hell. Even with repeated warming charms, by the time he touched down in the alley outside of the Leaky Cauldron, he was pretty well froze through. Somewhere beyond the tall buildings, he could hear a church bell ring in the last forty-five minutes of Christmas Eve. Thank god for a one hour time change.

The front door to the Leaky Cauldron was locked. Zacharias tried an _Alohomora _on the off chance that a simple unlocking charm would get around a proprietary ward. His luck wasn't so good.

So he tried brute force and started banging his fist on the heavy wooden door. "Hey! Hey, open up! Hannah! Hannah, I need to talk to you!"

Minutes passed and he wondered if perhaps he was just going to freeze outside and this was all a waste and he never should have come and Parkinson was wrong about everything. Then the door opened a crack.

"Zach, what are you doing here?" Hannah stared at him, clutching a knitted afghan around her shoulders.

"Same reason you came to Norway. I wanted to see if you were well." The side of his mouth raised partway.

A hurt expression came onto her face. "Don't," she said. "Don't make this anymore of a mess than it already is. Especially now. It's Christmas." She started to shut the door, but Zacharias shot out his foot to keep it from closing and winced when the heavy oak bonked against his foot.

"Wait. You can't just... Hannah you left me a letter."

"It was from five years ago." She looked down at her feet. "I pretty much got my answer, didn't I?"

"Nope!" Zacharias leaned on the door pushing it. His weight was no match for hers and the whole thing swung open, letting cold and snow swirl into the warm room. He propped his foot against the more open entry way and dug around in his pocket until he found a crumpled piece of paper which he started to unfold.

"Zach please," Hannah pleaded quietly.

"Did I ever tell you that you're the only person I know who calls me Zach?" He said as he flattened the paper against his chest before holding it up. "Sorry. This letter's kind of been through a lot." He cleared his throat and held the paper aloft, even going so far as to mime spectacles that needed to be adjusted.

"_Hannah-Banana. I think I love you too._"

Hannah's shawl fell to the floor.

Zacharias tilted his head. "That's all I have, actually." He flipped the paper around. It was blank. "Look, I didn't even need to write it down. And I know I was an idiot. And I _know _I'm a little late and this has all been really sudden, but I think I've loved you for a long time or maybe I just fell into it when you appeared on my doorstep. All I do know is that I stupidly let you go four days ago after I let you go years before and I'm not going to let you go again." He took a breath. "Parkinson will probably kick my arse if I do."

"She'll have to get in line." Hannah said, crossing the threshold and throwing her arms around his neck, meeting his lips with her own.

There was music the last time he'd kissed Hannah Abbott. Carols sung softly from the street outside his flat. He wanted to say it was like fireworks, and it almost was, but it was more than that. And there were bells. As midnight chimed, so did every church in the city, ringing in Christmas day with joyous peals of sound. Hannah's lips were warm, almost as joyous, and Zacharias held her tight against him until he was sure she wasn't going to leave. He didn't care about separated versus divorced. He didn't care that there were flakes of snow melting in his collar and dripping down his back. He cared about one thing.

And that was the way her mouth was on his.

At the beginning of the month, Zacharias would have never expected this sort of thing to happen. He would have said that he was going to be a confirmed bachelor because there really wasn't room in his life, meagre that it was, for anything permanent.

But this? This changed everything.

And when he picked her up, scooping his arms under her knees without breaking the kiss, Zacharias, who was always and only Zach to Hannah-Banana, was pretty sure this was going to be a repeated move with them.


	3. Facets

**Title: **Facets

**Author:** Nightfall aka nightfalltwen

**Pairings: **Theodore Nott/Pansy Parkinson, mentions of Draco Malfoy/Astoria Greengrass and Mandy Brocklehurst/Boy!Tracey Davis (long story short? No proof that it's not a boy.)

**Summary **After finding out that Pansy has been cast aside by the Malfoys, Theodore returns to England and offers to take her away from the mess.

**Rating: **PG13

**Warings: **None. Slytherins being Slytherins and bashing the Gryffindors.

**Author/Artist's notes: **I know. You're thinking: _boy_ Tracey? I knew a guy who was named Tracey once. My friend decided to do a twist at an RPG I was in once and make him a boy because I challenged her to it. Fell completely in love with her version of the character. This story TAKES PLACE before the other two chapters. Like I said in the main summary, they are posted in the order they were published on LJ

***

_September, 2002_

Theodore Nott's return to England was closely monitored by the Ministry. He had expected this, of course, what with the Ministry being rife with righteous Gryffindors thumping their fists against the desks to bark at the injustice of a nasty, nasty Slytherin being able to roam free. Never mind that he had made a substantial donation to St. Mungo's or that he had never appeared at the final battle. His colours were green and silver and that would never be good enough in the lions' eyes.

It begged the question: why had Theodore Nott returned to England in the first place? The last reports had him settled at some expansive villa in Tuscany with rumours of an number of secretive business trips to Moscow. The Ministry's contacts hadn't made a single mention of him deciding to return to England.

Though that certainly had something to do with the fact that Theodore hadn't passed along such information to the people he knew were in cahoots with the Ministry.

So, as Theodore sat at a small café table in Diagon Alley, sipping on a horribly made espresso (the English could never master the art of coffee) and reading an old edition of _The Daily Prophet_, the Hit Wizards assigned to keep tabs on him scratched their heads in confusion. He was up to something; they just didn't know what it could be.

"Theodore Nott. Well aren't you just the very last person I'd expect to see here," a low voice that had a smirk even in its tone, spoke from behind.

Theodore didn't look up from the article he was reading. The thing about being in the background and always observing is that one got to know the voices of one's housemates quite easily. "Merriweather Tracey Davis." He turned a page. "Are you going to stand there staring at me or are you going to sit down?"

"I swear, I'm going to kill Daphne for letting that name spill after the Yule Ball." Merriweather, who always and only went by Tracey Davis, pulled back the chair on the other side of Theodore and sat down. Born at the tail end of August, Tracey Davis had _just_ squeaked into the year before Theodore, though he always managed to spend most of his time with the students in the year below. He also managed to be one of the luckier Slytherins, off the radar when it came to accusatory finger-pointing. One of Tracey's eyebrows raised, the Slytherin symbol for curiosity or just about every other emotion that was out there. "So what drags you back to the bog that is our Britannia? Last I heard you were taking vows in Tibet."

A smile crossed Theodore's face briefly. That _had _been one of his better rumours. He turned the paper he'd been reading, a two-day-old issue, back to its front page and passed it across to Tracey. The headline and photo flipped back and forth between _Jilted Lover! Pansy Parkinson passed over for Malfoy Wife!_ and _Draco Malfoy to wed Astoria Greengrass in three weeks: An heir on the way?_ as well as accompanying pictures of the happy couple and Pansy's expressionless face that only the most observant could tell was positively raging beneath the surface.

"Yes, isn't that quite the thing?" asked Tracey, pushing his hair out of his eyes as he picked up the paper. "No one suspected that anything was amiss with Pansy and Draco. . . Then suddenly I hear all this news about how Draco's marrying Daphne's little sister and talk of her being up the duff . . . Blah, blah et cetera, et cetera."

Theodore's lips pressed together in a thin line. To know that one of his dearest friends was now being splashed across the _Prophet _simply to sell papers irritated him to no end. She absolutely did not deserve to be treated like this and he wasn't about to stand for the Wizarding World turning the poor girl into a laughing stock. It was this, and this alone, that had brought Theodore back to England.

"Tracey, do me a favour?" Theodore placed a galleon down on the table and moved his saucer so it half covered it. "Don't mention you saw me to any of our classmates."

A rather undignified snort came from Tracey and a half smile appeared. "I can't imagine that they'd ever find anything out from me. I don't really talk to them much. Either I'm too busy with a new film project or I'm rubbing Mandy's feet."

Theodore was not surprised at this admission. He made it his business to know what was happening with his former school mates and it was well known that M. Tracey Davis had decided that he would pursue a career in the Muggle world instead of the Wizarding. Theodore didn't put much weight in the Muggle film industry, but he was aware of it and from what he'd seen (having caught one of Tracey's independent films at Cannes), it actually seemed to _fit _the elder Slytherin's personality, which was a little less subtle than his classmates'. The other bit of information was also not a surprise. The rather bookish Mandy Brocklehurst had caught Tracey's eye a couple of years ago and their wedding had been large enough to make society pages in both Muggle and Wizarding papers. Theodore had sent them a first edition collection of Molière plays as a wedding present, something that would appeal to both the actor in Tracey and the book lover in Mandy.

Never let it be said that Theodore Nott didn't know how to pick out the perfect gift.

"How is your wife, then?" It was only polite to ask, even if Theodore really didn't care all that much. He knew enough about this Brocklehurst-Davis union to know that it was strong and far from breaking down. Which, in a way, seemed alright.

"Better now that the morning sickness has gone away," said Tracey with a Cheshire cat smile on his face, looking inordinately pleased with the fact that his family was about to gain a member. He got up from his seat and held out his hand to Theodore. "I'd say to come by the house. . . seeing Mandy insist that you eat would be rather amusing. . . but I'm going to guess your stay isn't going to be a long one."

"You'd be correct. If I stay too long, I suspect the Gryffindors will be marching down the road with torches. You know how irrational they can be." Theodore's eyes flicked to the outstretched hand. He was not accustomed to receiving friendly gestures. It was all Slytherins are bad and evil and always are and always will be or you're just a bloody traitor, Nott, turning your back on your own kind. But he awkwardly took the proffered hand and shook it.

"Keep in touch, Theo."

"I just might, Merriweather," Theodore answered, intentionally using Tracey's hated first name as a reminder that he, himself, wasn't fond of having his name foreshortened.

He really didn't have any intention on keeping that promise.

***

For years now, the Parkinson family had owned a posh Muggle-style flat in the neighbourhood of Marylebone. Herbert Parkinson had once claimed it as bachelor accommodations prior to his marriage. After his wedding, he had used the sprawling three-bedroom as a home away from home where, over the years, he could enjoy many a rendezvous with a long line of mistresses. The Muggle nature of the flat was to keep Madam Parkinson from travelling to it easily. Herbert had a prediliction for Muggle women, which disgusted his wife to no end and had to be kept explicitly secret from the entire Wizarding world. It would do no good for the family in the slightest to have something like this come to light.

When Pansy was old enough, and to keep her rumour-free, as Herbert would not allow his only daughter to _move in _with the Malfoy boy, the flat had been passed down. Herbert was no longer young and spry so he gladly gave up the stress of keeping women on the side for the sake of his only daughter. The flat was renovated, a Floo was added and many magical wards were set up.

This was the first time Theodore had seen it.

Now, approaching a warded home of a Wizard was generally a difficult thing to do. It was as if the perimeter was surrounded by glass that one could not see. In retrospect, Theodore thought perhaps it would have been better had he sent an owl ahead of time so that Pansy could remove some of the nastier wards. But in doing so it would allow for reporters from all manner of tasteless magazines to get closer to her. And Theodore couldn't possibly ask her to do that.

So it took him about three discreet hours to carefully pick his way through the different wards until he stood face to face with Pansy's door inside the building.

He used the handle of his wand to knock softly on the polished wood.

The door didn't open but a tiny elf appeared and stared up at Theodore with monstrously large eyes. He wasn't surprised to see the elf wearing a very clean pillowcase. Unlike the Malfoys who had only allowed their elf to wear a dirty sack until Potter helped the elder Malfoy grant it freedom, Pansy did not mistreat her elf. Blippy was given a fresh pillowcase every day. Though it wasn't clothes, at least it was clean. Which made sense considering how much Pansy detested dirt of any kind.

"Missy Parkinson doesn't want to see anyone!" The elf's voice was just as squeaky as Theodore remembered.

"Hello, Blippy. I think if you tell her that Theodore is here, she'll change her mind."

"Oh Noooo. Blippy is under strict instructions and can't let anyone come in," the elf whinged and began pulling at the bottom of her pillowcase. "Missy will throw Blippy out into the streets with _clothes_."

"I'll go in without your permission or announcement if you don't go and ask properly," Theodore threatened. Oh how he hated lowering himself to threatening an elf, but sometimes it was the only way to get things done and judging by the speed at which Blippy disappeared, he figured that the threat had worked.

Theodore stood and waited for a good ten minutes before he was granted entrance by a shaking house elf. She peered up at him, her eyes shining with tears and a rather large bruise on her forehead. He never did like the self-punishment of House Elves. It was one of the reasons why his home was only staffed by human servants. Oh human servants had their downside. Most, if not all, of them were either Squibs, which meant that they weren't able to do the sorts of things that House Elves were able to do. But Theodore enjoyed the conversations with his manservant more than he enjoyed conversing with squeaky-voiced, third-person speaking elves.

"Missy is not happy, but she will let you come in."

"As I knew she would. Thank you, Blippy."

Without hesitating to admire the antique Louis XV chairs in the foyer, something he would have done had this been an entirely different visit all together, Theodore strode into the flat and into the reception room. Pansy always said that greeting guests in any other room, even coming to meet them at the front door, was entirely too gauche and she would never be caught dead doing something as blasé as that. And don't get her started on conversations in the kitchen.

She had a three page lecture on the subject memorised.

As expected, Pansy was waiting for him in the reception room. She sat primly on the edge of a pristine, white settee and did not stand when he entered. To the untrained eye, she looked the picture of calm. Everything about her was neat and coiffed. The pleats of her skirt were sharp as razors seemed to compliment the rather disapproving look that she was giving him.

Theodore noticed, as he tended to notice things that others didn't, that her face had been freshly scrubbed. Although she had managed to reapply whatever it was she was wearing on her lips these days, her cheeks and forehead were pink and a bit shiny from the quick wash. And if that wasn't evidence enough, the tiny hairs around her hairline were damp. Damp enough that she couldn't completely hide it, or perhaps she hadn't wanted to. None of this served to mask the fact that her eyes were red and still a bit puffy.

"Theodore Nott, I would have expected better than you. Showing up on my doorstep without even sending an owl ahead of time and then ordering _my _elf around as if you were in charge? Have you no sense of propriety? Any decent person would have at least given me the chance to prepare to receive you properly."

"And when have you known me to be anything like anyone else?" Theodore said, moving to sit on the settee next to her.

Pansy snapped her fingers and Blippy appeared with a large silver tea service. It was enough to feed a small army and would mostly go to waste because neither Slytherin could eat all of if in one sitting. Theodore reached for a slice of bright lemon to place into one of the gleaming cups. The teapot itself raised up into the air and poured; the flowery bergamot scent began to float around the room. If there was one thing that he knew he could count on, it was being served an exceptional cuppa at the residence of a Parkinson.

The two sat in silence for what could have been minutes, but also could have been hours. Both were comfortable with merely the presence of one another's company. It was as it had been in school. Especially during sixth year when things started to go arse-backwards within the Slytherin dorms, when there were so many whispers of marks, who had them and who did not, and Draco's strange comings and goings. It was a definitive change for all of them. When the phrases "watch your back" and "sleep with one eye open" took on much more meaning than they ever had before. And throughout it all, Pansy would seek out his company, as if she were looking for something to remain completely the same.

Though it had all changed, hadn't it?

"Draco Malfoy is a fool," Theodore said finally after finishing his tea and setting the cup and saucer back onto the tea tray. "Everyone knows that the Greengrass family is no better than any other of the _Nouveau Riche_. He is marrying into a family with no breeding just for the sake of a name."

Pansy made a non-committal noise and turned her head to look out the window. Theodore could see that she was grinding her back teeth to keep words at bay. Surprising. Pansy Parkinson was not known to hold her tongue even in the most dire of circumstances. And yet here she was, keeping her thoughts to herself. It was terribly obvious that her feelings for Draco ran quite deep and she was not about to start insulting him with Theodore just to make herself feel better.

So upon discovering that, Theodore decided he would use another tactic.

"Pack your things." He daubed the side of his lips with a napkin.

"I don't need you to come galloping in on a white horse to save me, Theodore." Pansy finally turned her gaze back to him. "And I'm not about to turn tail and run as though I'm some sort of wounded dog looking for a place to lick my wounds. How dare you even suggest such a thing."

"Tch. That's exactly what you need, Pansy, whether you care to admit it or not. It's also one of your favourite fantasies if memory serves me correctly. I apologise for the lack of chiselled pectorals and long, golden hair blowing in the wind, but I do have quite a lot of money and a large estate in Tuscany where you will be entirely too distracted to even remember you have wounds to lick."

It took a moment before he heard it. The withering sigh. When that occurred, Theodore knew he'd won this round.

***

_October, 2002_

_Parkinson Heiress Flees Country! Secret Malfoy Lovechild to be Born as Foreigner!_

"When is this ever going to blow over, Theodore?" Pansy asked sadly as she broke a cantuccini in half and before popping a piece into her mouth; she took a very large gulp of Vin Santo.

The paper had arrived in the late afternoon, as it normally did for out-of-country subscribers and had Theodore been given the chance, he would have made short work of the rag with an _Incendio _charm before she'd seen the headlines. It was bad enough when they were calling her a jilted lover, but now the theory was that she was bearing a bastard child. Why he still even gave the papers in England any money for this was beyond him, but Pansy had requested that he keep on his subscription so she could keep track of things back home.

The very last rays of early October sunlight streaked the sky with orange and near red. Tuscany in the Autumn was lovely. The Summer tourists had left for home and the harvest begun. Cartloads of grapes to the presses and light Summer fare gave way to hearty vegetable dishes and roasts. Everything felt golden and warm in the Autumn even if the weather had started to cool off. It was Theodore's favourite season and he was determined to spend every single one of his Autumns in Tuscany if it was the last thing he did.

When they'd arrived, Pansy had spent a good portion of her time walking the grounds. This reserved and quiet demeanour was a side of his Housemate that Theodore had not seen before. Even in sixth year when Draco was pushing every single person away and she had come to him crying and frustrated at being shunned by her long-time boyfriend it had been all screams and tears and throwing of lamps. Which was a shame. The lamp was an antique.

It got to a point where he'd grown tired of seeing her like this and without warning took her to Milan for an impromptu shopping trip. Ah, that was where Pansy had started to come back out of the shell she'd backed herself into. There was nothing in the world, she told him after they were finished, that could make a girl feel better about herself than a pair of Manolo Blahniks or a Versace handbag. Theodore guessed that there was probably something else, but he was happy to indulge her this superficial fix. But the high of new shoes quickly wore off and she'd slipped back into the sad creature she'd been before he had even tried.

"You know the press, Pansy. They're like vultures. Until they've picked this story clean from all angles, they won't ever let up." And since the official statement from Astoria's healer was that she was _not _carrying a child, they had turned back to squeezing out stories on the subject of Pansy.

"I thought it was bad when they were still calling me a Death Eater," she said, looking out toward the rolling vineyard that covered the next property over. Workers still threaded through the rows like ants, their scarf-clad heads bobbing up and down as they cut bunches of grapes.

"For the record, _I_ never thought you were a Death Eater." Theodore let a smile find its way onto his face. "I happen to know, in detail, your position on tattoos and other body modification."

"Thank you!" Pansy lightly tapped the table with the flat of her hand. "Everyone believed I was this horrible girl for what I said about Potter during that last battle. Traitorous Slytherin, evil to the end. I just wanted it all to be _over. _And the thought of letting some ugly man mark _my_ skin up? I think not."

"Who is everyone?" Resting his arms on the edge of the table, Theodore steepled his fingers and touched his thumbs to his lower lip.

Pansy looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"Who is grouped into this 'everyone' that you talk about? Because if you're talking about the rest of our Housemates, they're all beneath you anyhow and if you're talking about Gryffindors. . . what does it matter? They're _Gryffindors_ and why you would consider their opinion to be important is absurd. I certainly didn't."

"And look where it drove you," Pansy said dryly.

Theodore could see that her hackles were starting to raise up. It actually relieved him because although he was enjoying the company, it was a hollow version of Pansy, whom he knew was quite passionate, and he was starting to wonder if it had been a good idea to take her away from the world she seemed to be most comfortable wallowing in.

"I chose to make my own way and I hardly care what the peons below me say about my life. You shouldn't either. You're a queen bee, Pansy Parkinson. Not a drone."

"You ran away from everyone! You ran away from me!" Pansy's face had gone a rather unattractive shade of pink. "You weren't on trial for anything and you disappeared. Then you show up three years later and just whisk me away to your magical villa in Italy? Because a few pairs of shoes and a purse might make up for the fact that you abandoned me along with everyone else?! You are an awful, _awful _person, Theodore Nott and I can't stand to look at you!"

Theodore stood up and gathered the sections of _The Prophet_, folding them neatly under his arm. Pansy continued to scowl at him and he continued not to speak to her. As he turned away, he heard her chair scrape back across the stone patio. He'd not managed to get more than a few steps before she grabbed his arm, her fingers curling tightly around it.

"Where are you going?" she demanded.

He hesitated for a moment, looking first at her hand and then at her face. "If you can't stand to look at me, Pansy, then I shall remove myself from your sight."

"Stop it!" She stamped her foot, looking every bit more like the old Pansy he knew and remembered. "Stop being so maddeningly _calm_!That's all you've done since I came with you. Calm tones and calm body language and. . . Calm!!"

The funny thing was, Theodore had always been like this. When she threw fits during sixth year and came to him wailing about how awful Draco was being to her, he didn't raise his voice or shake his fist at the world alongside her. Theodore was a calculating Slytherin. Always observing until he knew the exact place to insert a careful barb or a distinct nudge. His ambition lay with subterfuge and whispered suggestions. He would get his way by influencing someone without them realising that he was doing so.

A sigh escaped from his lips. "What do you want, then, Pansy?"

Somehow over the course of this exchange she'd found her fire, which actually relieved Theodore more than he cared to admit. Angry Pansy he was fine with. Moping Pansy. . . Not so much.

"Shout at me! Let me shout back at you! Don't just sit there quietly and let me be sad and pitiful; be angry with me. Why aren't you as angry as I am? Somehow we got the shite end of the stick and you're alright with it? You should be furious. Angry at a world that says we don't deserve to be around and don't deserve to be loved or have love or be happy!" She managed to let go of his arm, a frustrated growl of a sound bursting from her throat. "He threw me away! I even took him back after everything and he still threw me away! It's not fair, Theodore. All I ever wanted was to have someone be madly in love with me and I get pushed aside for a _Greengrass_."

Without realising what he was doing at first, Theodore reached over to her and cupped his hand to her cheek. She slapped it away and buried her face in her hands. A slight frown crossed his face and he tried again, this time tucking a loose curl behind her ear. She took a step back from him and lowered her hands enough to peek at him over the tips of her fingers. There was almost a dare in her narrowed eyes as if challenging him to touch her again. Part of him said he should stop as he would most likely lose a finger or worse. But the other part called her bluff and he took a larger step closer to her so there were nearly toe to toe.

"Aren't we a little old to play this game, Pansy?"

"I'm _cross _with you," she said behind her hands, but didn't move away from him.

"So what would you have me do? Charge back to England and hex Draco Malfoy for wronging you?"

Pansy dropped her hands. "Would you?"

"No."

His answer to her wasn't completely honest. Sometimes it took a great deal of strength to keep from Apparating right to England to throttle Malfoy within an inch of his life. Pansy and Theodore never did have the history that her and Draco had, but their friendship was of a different sort and quite probably twice as strong. He was overwhelmingly protective of her. It was the only explanation he could come up with for having dropped everything to take her away from that godforsaken rock of a country that he once called home.

One of the servants came out to collect the dishes and Theodore realised they'd been standing there for some time just staring at each other. His hand had made its way to her shoulder, thumb brushing the slope of her collarbone. Sometimes Pansy could be all angles and sharp, but he never found that she held that façade long when he was with her. She wet her lips expectantly, her eyes flicking back and forth as if she couldn't hold his gaze for long. In that moment he made a decision. Stepping back, Theodore turned away from her and picked a stray piece of lint from his shirt. He looked at her once before he started back up to the house.

"Wait!" She called after him. "Aren't you going to kiss me?"

He glanced over his shoulder at her and a rather smug smile appeared. "No, Pansy," he called back. "Not yet."

***

_November 2002_

For weeks Theodore and Pansy skirted around each other in an intricate dance of friendship and hints of wanting more. From both sides. Pansy was more direct with her intentions because, of the two, she was definitely the more passionately physical. Often she would arrive for breakfast and as she passed around behind his chair her fingertip would drag lightly across the back of his neck. In Theodore's case, he would merely put down whatever book he was reading at the time and watch her with a steady gaze until he cheeks flushed.

The two would speak for hours about everything. From the current financial markets, to the latest fashion trends, to their absolute horror at the sheer amount of articles on Potter's upcoming nuptials to the Weasley female. On the bright side of all that, Pansy was no longer a feature story as the papers had set their sights elsewhere. But it still never failed to turn their stomachs to read such atrocious drivel. It was almost worse than the terribly unflattering picture of Astoria in her wedding dress robes.

Really. One should only be allowed to wear so much tulle it needs to be declared a crime against fashion.

On the second weekend of November, Theodore took Pansy to San Miniato for the white truffle fair. The accommodations were small, a tiny flat in the village that was nowhere near the size of his home miles away. They slept on narrow beds in the same room and shared a single bathroom. Pansy tied a handkerchief over her hair, wore trousers and proclaimed herself quaint and perfectly able to fit in with the villagers. Theodore had to keep from laughing.

They ate far too much, drank far too much and slept for far too long.

"I'm thinking of taking a job, Pansy," Theodore said suddenly and waved away a slender waiter with a large pepper mill.

"Well I hardly think truffle harvesting is for you, Theodore, but if your heart is set on it, then who am I to stand in your way? I just ask that you don't name your hog after me or I might be forced to slaughter you."

"Actually, I was thinking a Ministry job."

She put down her fork and wiped the edge of her mouth with a napkin. "You can't be serious. You actually want to go _back _to England? When you have all this?"

"My father invested his galleons wisely, but I can't expect to live off them forever without replenishing that which I've spent." He speared a piece of pasta with his fork, careful to include a shaved bit of truffle with it. "And you know how I enjoy challenges."

"But the Ministry? England doesn't want us. Why should you go back there?" She wrinkled her nose. "And it's the _Ministry_. You can't honestly be thinking of putting yourself into such a banal situation, can you?"

Theodore took a long moment to chew thoughtfully on the mouthful of food he had placed in his mouth. She was absolutely right. He had no intention of returning to England. At least not permanently. A visit every now and then, he was beginning to realise, wouldn't kill him. Especially if he took the time to reacquaint himself with some of the people he once (and often still) considered friends. Though he wasn't certain when he'd finally get around to making those visits. Laying his fork down on the edge of his plate, he sat back and watched a few people walk by before returning his gaze to the woman who sat nearly beside him, but not quite.

"I wasn't planning on the British Ministry," he said after a moment. "But there just so happens to be a rather important position in Norway. With the Royal Family Division."

He'd been putting out feelers for a few weeks now, making contacts with various countries to see what was available. Theodore was not a blue collar working man, but the idea of a position of power within the government of another country -- one where he could be the person that the British Ministry had to go through for any sort of reason -- was very tempting. When the owl came back from Norway that there was an opening within the RFD, his interest had been completely piqued. It wasn't necessarily a position of power. It wasn't even really a position that paid a lot. Money wasn't really his reasoning for finding employment. But the chance to rub elbows with the Oldenburg wizards, the oldest Wizarding family in Europe that just so happened to be Muggle royalty, was something even Theodore was finding very difficult to pass up.

"So you would ship me back to England so that you can flit off to some sort of snowy wasteland and do menial work that you don't really have to do?" Pansy's arms were crossed and she looked as though she was about to break her back teeth from clenching her jaw so hard.

"No."

"Leave me in Tuscany then?"

"As much as I know you would enjoy ruling over my staff with an iron fist. No."

Reaching into his pocket, Theodore pulled something out, then touched her arm, fingers moving downward until he was able to take her hand and turn it so her palm was facing up. He closed her fingers around that which he'd just removed from his coat and looked at her intently.

In all the years he'd known her, Theodore had never seen such a completely bewildered look on Pansy's face when she uncurled her fingers. Her mouth gaped open. Gaped! And Pansy Parkinson was not one for gaping, codfish-like expressions. Lying on her palm was a ring. A delicate gold band mounted with a rather large diamond. This was not a gift between friends. And he had never intended for it to be as such.

"Be engaged to me Pansy Parkinson," he said when she didn't speak first. It was never a question for him. It never could be merely a question, but more a healthy demand that seemed more like a statement of fact.

"But . . .we haven't. . . there haven't been. . . " It seemed as though she was at a loss for words. "You haven't even _kissed_ me, Theodore."

A smile curled his lips. "I haven't. Should that make a difference?"

"Well yes! How am I supposed to know if you're the one I should say yes to if you haven't even kissed me but once."

Their food was getting cold, but neither of them really seemed to notice. "Now that's untrue. I've kissed you many times, Pansy. Hellos and goodbyes and ringing in almost every new year."

"It's not the same."

He wondered why it would matter so much or what exactly it would change between them. "The first day I saw you, I knew we would be in each other's lives until we were old and you were searching out ways to keep the wrinkles at bay. A mere kiss isn't going to change the fact that you need me about as much as I need you."

The expression on Pansy's face was a mixture of frustration and something that he couldn't quite place. She continued to stare at the sitting on her palm. Almost as if she was offering it back to him or waiting for some random magpie to swoop down from the sky and snatch it away. Though the latter was least likely to be allowed to happen. Theodore had spent a small fortune on the ring and he was hardly going to let the likes of some dirty and possibly diseased bird steal it away. He reached out his hand to hers and watched as her fingers suddenly closed tightly around the ring.

Ah. A decision.

"Do you love me, Theodore?" She looked up at him and tilted her head with eyes that were slightly narrowed and scrutinising. "And don't give me that 'I care for you deeply because we're friends' rhetoric because I really don't want to hear that and I'd rather you didn't just consider me a friend because then this whole 'be engaged to me' question sounds more like pity than anything else and I don't know if I can ta--"

He pressed two fingers to her lips to silence her. "It has only ever been you for me," he said earnestly. "If you're not ready to answer, I can wait. I've waited for over ten years. I'm a _very _patient man."

She raised a sceptical eyebrow and pulled back from his fingertips. "You've been waiting since you were eleven?"

"Well, I'd say eleven and a half, but yes."

"Then why won't you kiss me?" Her bottom lip pushed out slightly in a pout.

"I never wanted to do it when you were expecting me to." It took a moment to realise that his hand had dropped and was now curled over hers. They were tiny and delicate and perfectly smooth. Whether that came from years of rigorous care and moisturising potions or was just part of her naturally, he didn't know. Nor did he really care.

A sad look crossed Pansy's face, which was confusing because he had thought she would be rather happy about his honesty. "Sometimes, Theodore," she said quietly, "Sometimes I need to be kissed when I'm expecting you to."

"Ah," was his only reply.

So in the middle of the day in the medieval hilltop town of San Miniato with their pasta getting cold and truffles going to waste and with waiters bustling about the patio with pepper mills and with Muggles walking by, Theodore Nott kissed Pansy Parkinson. It was a very public display of his affection and perhaps he could have chosen a more secluded locale and he was probably leaning across his food and getting stains on his shirt, but for some reason none of that really seemed to matter.

Then he drew back because it was only proper that he give her a chance to speak or breathe. Instead of words, Pansy chose actions, fisting her free hand in the front of his shirt and pulling him towards her. This time she kissed _him, _fiercely, as if she had been holding herself back for far too long and could finally let it out now that he had broken the strange sort of wall between them. Which he supposed that she had. It was heated and demanding. She was in charge. And somewhere in the background he could hear the other restaurant patrons' twittering whispers.

And damn if he didn't care.

"Shall I get the cheque?" he asked when she finally let him speak.

"Please do."

***

He woke first the next morning, well aware that the slight weight curling up over his chest towards his neck was her arm and that her fingers were still tangled in some of the longer strands of his hair. The early morning sunlight puddled on the floor and reflected off of the buckle of his discarded belt to form patterns above the bed. He watched them creep slowly across the ceiling as he swept the tips of his fingers up and down the curve of her spine. When he was younger, Theodore had wanted to describe Pansy's skin as alabaster. Seeing every inch of it, had changed his mind completely and made alabaster seem like such a inadequate word. He couldn't even really describe it now. Alabaster was cold and too much like stone. Pansy was none of these things and he rather enjoyed that.

He knew he'd been waiting for a reason. She had always been that reason.

Her breathing pattern changed and he knew she was awake. "Theodore?"

"Yes?" He liked that she didn't call him some sort of pet name. No darlings or sweethearts or, heaven forbid, "lover" which were all just too pedestrian for what he felt was quite important between them.

"I'm going to say yes." Pansy lifted her head and looked at him, resting her chin on his chest.

"I thought you might."

"I don't want to get married," she clarified. "Not for a good long while. I think that's why Dra--"

He stopped her with a kiss. Bringing up the ex after such a night was not okay in his book. "I didn't ask you to marry me, if you recall. I asked you to be engaged to me." His hand found its way to her cheek and he brushed his thumb across her mouth.

"Good. I like the sound of _fiancée _much better," she said. "You do know that I'm going to follow you anywhere, don't you?"

"I'm actually counting on that."

Her smile was filled with something he hadn't seen in quite some time. Joy. She had so many different masks to wear for the world. It turned out that he was glad that not all of them had been lost. Sometimes it was so easy for a Slytherin to discard parts of themselves in order to present the face they knew everyone else expected. Surprisingly, Gryffindor hadn't cornered the market on noble sacrifice. Slytherins just perfected it. Some of them managed to buck against the traditions and carve their own paths and make their own choices. Others fell in line with their families and did the bidding of those who had trod the path before them.

Theodore knew they were both the former. Pansy had just needed to realise that.


	4. Monsoon Season

Title: **Monsoon Season**

**Author: **Nightfall aka nightfalltwen

**Pairings: **Ernie Macmillan/Padma Patil, mentions of Zacharias/Hannah and Terry/Susan

**Summary: **Ernie is sent to India to work on the Floo Network.

**Rating: **PG13

**Warnings **A person who has never been to India, writing about India. I do my research, but I bend the rules when it comes to the wizarding history. You have been warned.

**Author/Artist's notes: **This work is un-beta'd. Any and all mistakes are mine.

***

_June 2009_

"You're sending me _where_?" Ernie looked up from the portkey request he'd just been handed utterly and unequivocally convinced that it had to be a misprint. "Seriously?"

"Now, Macmillan." Mr Quincy, Ernie's direct superior, began to pour tea from a silver teapot. "You're the only junior minister in Magical Transportation who has the spare time. And you're the only junior minister we feel can handle a project of such magnitude. This is very important for both England and the Wizarding world."

A little muscle right above Ernie's eyebrow twitched. He could tell when someone was spreading it on thick, even if it did have some truth to it. Early in his ministry career, Ernie Macmillan had managed to set himself apart from the other quill pushers in the department. He'd been one of the younger ones promoted to a junior minister position after all the work he put into retrofitting the Floo Network. Especially in the outer Hebrides.

They liked the hard working Hufflepuffs at the Ministry. Hufflepuffs got the work _done_.

That didn't mean that he liked being the one chosen to go on some wild international project. No matter how beneficial it might be for England. Ernie was a homebody. He liked England. He liked Scotland. He liked the cold rain and the fog. He liked rolling green hills and the crashing surf of the ocean that surrounded this little island he called home. He would rather live out his days in a cottage overlooking the Channel than travel anywhere. In fact, other than Scotland, Ireland and Wales, Ernie had not travelled. Ever.

"Besides. You'll love New Delhi," said Quincy. "It's a city with a very rich heritage and lots of things to see and do."

That was it. No more arguments. Ernie was dismissed and he knew it. An hour later he was downing a pint of Butterbeer at the Leaky Cauldron, pouring out his irritation to Hannah.

"_Love _New Delhi. Love!" He wiped the back of his sleeve across his mouth. "I don't know the first thing about India. Except that it's hot and sweaty. Sweaty! Hannah, they're going to make me perspire!"

"You never know, Ernie," Hannah said as she wiped a cloth over the bar in front of him. "It could be lovely. And you could see the Taj Mahal while you're in the country. I've only seen pictures, but you could actually _see _it.

"What am I going to eat while I'm there?" Ernie ignored what she said. "I have a delicate constitution. Remember when we ate at _Tika Tika_ last month? I thought I was going to die!"

"Oh buck up, Macmillan." Zacharias slid into the chair next to Ernie, but not before leaning across the bar to kiss Hannah on the lips. "Seeing the world isn't going to kill you. I spent eight years in another country and it didn't ruin me."

Ernie bristled a bit, not something he could control just yet. For years he'd been angry at Zacharias and even though everything had been explained -- the whole thing with his housemate's sister -- Ernie still couldn't stop the feeling of irritation slide across his skin. It was slowly going away. He was making a strong effort to see that it was a forgivable offence and that Zach had only done what he'd done out of love for his family. But of all the Hufflepuffs, Ernie was probably one of the most stubborn. Too many things had changed too quickly and he did not like it. Hannah's pending divorce, her new relationship with Zacharias, Susan's marriage to the Ravenclaw and her daughter (though Charlotte was a sweetheart), making her the first of the Hufflepuffs in his year to start a family. Change, he'd been told, was good, but Ernie didn't care for it happening as often as it did.

"I don't think this compares at all, Zacharias," Ernie said, downing the rest of his Butterbeer. "You _did _get to choose your country. I'm having this foisted upon me."

"Oh Ernie," Hannah said, tossing the cloth towards the sink behind the bar; it landed with a plop. "Try not to get so worked up over it. It's not like they're asking you to move there forever."

"And I'll _guarantee _you'll find something you like while you're there," Zacharias added, clapping Ernie's shoulder with his hand.

"I really don't think that either of you are being very sympathetic to my plight," Ernie sniffed and dropped his coins on the counter for Hannah. "You know that I'll probably be exposed to cholera or something just as nasty."

Hannah swept the money off the counter into her hand and dropped it into the pocket of her apron. "You won't, Ernie. Please be a little more open-minded about it."

But Ernie wouldn't hear any more. It was quite obvious that his friends didn't really care all that much about his safety or well-being. He bid them both farewell and headed back to the Ministry to contemplate his dark fate. The two of them would certainly be singing a different tune when he came back riddled with leprosy or the bubonic plague.

That would certainly show them.

***

Ernie knew from the start that this trip was headed for an unmitigated disaster. The Portkey office was months behind in securing international requests. God how he hated the incompetent yahoos that worked in that office. And even with the bungling the trip had not been postponed. The Ministry was so dead set on this deal going through that he'd been given tickets on a Muggle aeroplane. Some Turkish airline which made Ernie very uncomfortable. Why was a Turkish airline going to India? Would it drop him off in Turkey and expect him to walk the rest of the way? And he didn't know a thing about Muggle transportation. How on earth did they keep these metal creatures from falling out of the sky without magic?

Questions that were never answered.

Susan and Terry drove him to Heathrow.

"We can't go all the way to the gate with you, Ernie," explained Terry Boot, Susan's impossibly tall husband. "Don't argue with anyone who asks you to take your shoes off. And they shouldn't have a problem with your wand as long as you keep it concealed. It's not in a metal holster is it?"

Ernie looked at the Ravenclaw as he chatted, an arm resting across Susan's shoulders as she pushed the pram down towards security with him. He patted his thigh. "No. Leather. Really, Boot. We've been over this countless times. I think I can handle one lit-- Oh my God! They've got wands in public! Alert the Ministry."

"Those are hand-held metal detectors, Ernie," said Susan as she lifted baby Charlotte from the pram. "Terry already told you about those."

"Yes. Yes, of course you told me. I was just testing you." He raised his chin. "I suppose this is it then?" He held out his arms for the baby. Of all the people in the entire world that didn't cause him to get all blustery, it was eight-month-old Charlotte Boot. She just seemed to make things more calm and put together. Ernie, of course, wasn't surprised by this. The little girl was part Hufflepuff. The better part, he always insisted.

"Take care of your mum and dad while I'm gone, Peanut," he said as the little girl grabbed his ear with a wet hand. "If I don't make it back, you can have all my packing boxes to play with."

"Have a lovely trip," said Susan as she took Charlotte back and gave Ernie a hug with her free arm. She pressed a kiss to his cheek and smiled. "You'll be fine."

Terry shook his hand, which was well appreciated as Ernie didn't care for over-emotional men. Or lengthy goodbyes.

He'd never admit it to them, though, that he was entirely grateful Terry and Susan had stayed until he was through security before they turned to leave.

Once he found his gate, Ernie slumped into an uncomfortable chair and waited, his satchel on his lap. Overhead some sort of ominous voice reminded everyone not to leave their things unattended. The airport was noisy, full of people he didn't recognise, most of them speaking a language he didn't understand. It was the start of what he felt would be a long and painful journey. Thank goodness he'd had the foresight to bring a tiny bottle of sleeping potion disguised as a travel bottle of shampoo. Twenty-two hours in something that was entirely controlled by Muggles was not something he was looking forward to in the slightest.

***

Despite the fact that he'd slept most of the way, Ernie was tired, sore and cranky from the long trip. Also very hungry because the potion had knocked him out so that he missed one of the in-flight meals. They wouldn't even bring him something later on except little pouches of very salty peanuts. Savages. He cursed Muggles and all their ilk for inventing such a horrible way to travel. How did they do it? Why did they even bother leaving the country if _this _was the only way for them to do it without spending a week on a train or even longer in one of those automobiles?

The corridors at Indira Gandhi International were long and filled with very loud, very travel-weary people. Twice Ernie found himself lost and unable to find baggage claim. Had it not been for a backpacking American couple that took pity on him, he might have ended up on a flight bound for Vancouver. By the time he reached the carousel, luggage from his flight was already circling around. It took three attempts to grab his suitcase and some very foul language to an elderly woman who wouldn't move out of the way. Luckily it seemed as though she didn't speak a lick of English because she patted Ernie on the head and said something he didn't understand with a gummy smile on her face.

Once his suitcase was in hand, Ernie turned around to look for any sign of the person who was to escort him to the Ministry. All the faces seemed to blur together into one single face. He started to worry that perhaps maybe they'd forgotten he was coming.

That would be just his luck, wouldn't it?

Then he saw a young woman holding a piece of cardboard with _E. Macmillan _written across it in dark lettering. The sign hung limply from her fingertips as she chatted to the person standing next to her.

Ernie approached. "I'm E!"

The woman turned her head at his voice and raised her eyebrows then glanced back at the other person she'd been chatting with, speaking rapidly in Punjabi. Ernie couldn't understand any of it. He sat down his suitcase and patted his chest with the flat of his hand.

"Me," he said slowly. "E. Like sign. E. Macmillan. Errr-nieee. You take me. We go now."

She sighed and crossed her arms. Ernie didn't know what to do. If she didn't believe that he was who he said she was, would she just leave without taking him with her? Maybe if he showed her his wand. It was still strapped to his arm and he could show it to prove he was a wizard. But that made him uneasy because what if she was just a Muggle hired to drive him somewhere? She didn't look like any of the other drivers waiting with their name cards. She looked like... Well he didn't know what she looked like. He supposed it was close to what a normal Indian citizen looked like all wrapped in yards of breezy orange fabric.

Without thinking, Ernie swore under his breath.

"You really should watch your language, Ernie," the woman said in perfect British English.

Ernie gaped. And he hated to gape.

"Come on, we don't have all day to get you settled and I would really like to Apparate back to finish up some categorising before the day is out." She reached to take his suitcase, but Ernie grabbed it before she did.

"Bloody buggering hell," Ernie shifted his carry-on bag over his shoulder. "I really don't get paid enough for this."

"I can empathise. My wages really don't include travelling to the airport to pick up wizards who are, for the most part, rather culturally insensitive. Yet here I am. Defying all natural logic."

Ernie frowned. He thought he was being insulted and yet wasn't exactly sure. The way she spoke to him was... Oh. He fell to a stop and was nearly run over by a man in a turban, bags piled high on a trolley. There were two Indian girls who had attended Hogwarts. One of them, he knew, was still in England promoting her line of cosmetics. And the only reason that Ernie knew that is because the girls at the office talked about her a lot. He'd not seen a picture in ages. This must be the carbon copy.

The Ravenclaw.

"Padma Patil."

"The Hufflepuff catches on a little faster than I'd figured," she said over her shoulder.

"Oi! I'm not daft. I'm tired. I'm hungry. But I'm not daft." Ernie jogged to catch up with her. "Forgive me if I didn't realise I'd be meeting an old school chum halfway across the world. And what do you mean by culturally insensitive? I've been perfectly polite!"

Why hadn't he realised that this could happen? It wasn't as if every Hogwarts student stayed in England. They travelled everywhere, working in all manner of locations. Susan had spent practically forever in Japan before meeting Boot and coming home with a ring on her finger. Zacharias had lived in Norway for eight years before following Hannah home. Justin was living across the pond in bloody Canada. Canada! And he was starting to sound like one of them too. Going on and on about that crazy game those people played with ice skates and sticks. Though he shouldn't be surprised. The boyfriend was Muggle and a fan of some team with leaves in the name.

Why people couldn't just watch a normal sport like Quidditch or Cricket, Ernie would never know.

Padma turned and looked at him, one hand on her hip. "You pushed in front of that elderly woman and then said some rather nasty words to her. You spoke to me like... well like I was stupid. And right now you're making faces because you're not used to the sounds or the smells."

"I can't help that!" Ernie hissed, trying not to raise his voice in the middle of an airport. "I forgot to learn Punjabi during my flight and I really am sorry, but it does smell in here. We've all gotten off bloody twenty hour plus trips. None of us smell like flowers!"

A strange disbelieving sound came out of her and she shook her head before turning to lead him out of the terminal and toward a place where they could apparate safely.

This was going to be a _long _trip.

***

_Hannah Abb... Long....,_

_For God's sake Hannah! How am I supposed to address you now? Are you still a Longbottom or have you gone back to your maiden name?_

_You can tell Zacharias that I am perfectly miserable._

_I honestly do not know how this country even manages the Floo Network they have in place, let alone even think they are going to be able to attempt international connections in the time they've given me. Three weeks! I've been here three weeks! And it feels like I've only managed to scrape the surface. Do you even know how difficult this is? I've had to travel through Network connections that in all likelihood should not exist just to test that they are stable. For the record, they are not! Which means I have to go back and set the proper charms in the houses that have shoddy connections._

_Do you __know__ how large the country is??_

_I am always dirty, always hot, always __sweating__ and Patil is no help at all. Could you ask Susan to ask her husband if there's some sort of trick to understanding this woman? He was her housemate for seven years. He must know something! So far it's been nothing but insults and remarks about how I am not being sensitive to the way things are done around here._

_Well, I can't help it if they're being done wrong!_

_I've included a little clay doll for Charlotte. A local village woman gave it to me. Susan can put it aside until she's old enough to play with it,._

_Sincerely_

_Ernie Macmillan Esq._

*

_Ernie,_

_I've spoken with Terry myself. By the by, he was surprised to hear that you were working with Padma. He's not heard from her in a number of years. He said to tell you that she just likes to be talked to as an equal, but other than that... You're kind of on your own. He says, and I quote, that if he understood how she thought then he'd probably still be dating her and not married to Susan, so he's glad he never did._

_I wish I could tell you more, but it sounds like you're having a rough time of it. I'm sure it can't be as bad as you are making it out to be. Maybe you should take an interest in something outside of the Floo. Go see the Taj or visit some temples. Take a day and be a tourist. Maybe you'll have a bit of fun and it will put everything in perspective._

_Ask Padma to show you around perhaps? She might cut you a little slack if you look like you're interested in expanding your horizons. And I don't mean just look like it. Actually try to do it and enjoy yourself._

_Love_

_Hannah Longbottom (legally, still my last name)_

Ernie folded up the letter and shoved it into the top drawer of his desk. Hannah's idea was terrible. Be a tourist? He didn't have time for that. There was too much work to be done and too little time to do it as was evident by the eight inch stack of files sitting on the corner of his desk of Floo routes that needed to be tested and retrofitted.

And the technicians weren't anywhere _near_ up to the standards where Ernie would let them work on their own.

"Macmillan?" Padma leaned into his office. "The Ministry is putting a halt on our work for today. We can go home."

Ernie looked at her baffled. "What?! But the A4 line needs a final test run! We can't just stop. It'll throw the rest of our schedule out of synch."

"Do you think I didn't bring that up?" She frowned at him. "This has to do with some sort of issue between the states that has come to light. We're not involved in negotiations, so we can go home."

Politics. Ernie frowned and folded his hands on the desk. He wasn't pleased with this turn of events in the slightest. Though he supposed that he shouldn't be surprised. The work was often put on hold in order to cater to some sort of "negotiations" that hadn't been finalised before he arrived. He'd been reminded by Patil on several occasions that it wasn't unusual for this to happen. If he thought about it hard enough, it really wasn't all that unusual for the British Ministry to bog him down with red tape, but this situation was far more irritating because the longer he was delayed the longer he had to stay.

In any case, there wasn't really anything he could do about it.

Looking at the drawer, he thought of the letter he'd just placed inside.

"Patil, would it be an inconvenience...." He paused and looked up at her. "Would you show me around?"

"Around where?"

"I dunno. The city? A park? Some temple or something? You're always calling me insensitive.."

"That's because you are."

Ernie took a breath and pressed his lips together, then spoke through clenched teeth. "So I was _thinking_ that maybe you could show me something so I can become _less_ so."

"Fine." She had her hands on her hips, not looking like she was pleased he was asking. "Meet me at the entrance in ten minutes."

***

Well if he was going to be honest, Ernie had to admit that he was enjoying himself. Despite the humidity. Padma took him to an enormous park, which she said were called the Lodhi Gardens. A pamphlet back at his hotel room had mentioned the gardens, something about how they had been commissioned or designed during the British Raj, but he'd not actually taken the time to read more about them. It was nice. This little bit of tranquility in the middle of a sprawling and overpopulated city.

"Here. Have some jaangiri." Padma held out a curly, orange thing in a paper napkin that she had purchased from a man sitting on a blanket. Ernie opened his mouth to protest eating things from strangers without proof of proper food sanitation procedures, but she thrust the object into his hand. "Just _try_ it, Macmillan. It's not going to kill you."

He eyed the treat in his hand before taking a small nibble. This strange, sweet flavour filled his mouth. Wow. Oh _wow_. It wasn't like anything he'd ever tasted before and yet almost tasted like everything in a small way. It was absolutely amazing and he was halfway through eating it before he stopped to speak. And he instantly regretted how shocked he sounded when he said, "this is _good_."

"Did you think I would feed you something that wasn't?" she said with an annoyed tone.

"I didn't mean it like that. I've just... I've never... " But Padma was already walking away. Ernie jogged to catch up. "Hey. Patil. Wait. What on _Earth_ are you so hostile about? I was complimenting this thing...not accusing you of anything. You've been treating me terribly since I arrived and I have no idea why."

She whirled about, all yellow fabric and angry expressions. "No idea why? _None_?So you didn't come halfway across the world because a woman can't do just a good a job at this Floo project as a man? You _don't _hate this entire country because it isn't cold and wet and clammy like mother England? You _don't _write home and tell your friends how awful and terrible it is here?"

"How do you know what I write home?" Ernie asked with a frown. Reading someone else's letters was a severe breech of privacy. "Because that's... that's _low, _Patil."

"Oh I didn't read your letters, you silly twit. It was just a guess. Seems I was proved accurate, wasn't I?"

"Well come _on_! It's nine hundred degrees out here with no sign of it getting colder. I've sweated in places I didn't know I had! You can't get a proper fry-up anywhere except the British Embassy and even then it's not as good as home. And what's all this about me thinking you can't do your job because you're a girl? Woman... whatever. That's codswallop."

He didn't understand where she was coming from. Alright, maybe he was a _little _intolerant of the weather and the unusual way of doing things. But he didn't ever think she was incompetent. In his opinion Ravenclaws were just as competent at things as Hufflepuffs. In entirely different ways, but still competent. He'd seen her notes, her outlines, all her charts. Her work was impressive and it had made his job run more smoothly than it had in England. In fact, he probably would have given his right arm to have her help out there when he was retrofitting the connections back home.

Padma was still furious. "Six months! Six bloody months I spent drawing up the proposal and the plans for this project. Then not only do they give the job I wanted away to a _man_, but they bring him in from England and make me his driver and assistant. Assistant!"

Ernie blinked, his mouth hanging open slightly. "I didn't know that."

"Sure you didn't," she snapped, though it looked like the wind was going out of her sails.

"I didn't! I was only told that it was important for England and that I was good for the job. I was under the impression that it was a joint venture, but they certainly didn't say it was because they didn't want a woman to do the job." He looked at her. For the first time since arriving he was actually concerned with what she thought of him. Before all this it was more that it didn't matter because he was the best person (or so he thought) for the job and he didn't actually care what they thought of him, only that they trusted him to get the job done. "Patil, all this time... You haven't been thinking that I thought you were beneath me because you're a woman, have you?"

"You hardly ever say please and you don't even use my first name. I can take that from the men I work with on a daily basis, but you're supposed to be different. You weren't raised here."

Ernie opened his mouth to say something in response to that, but realised she was actually quite right. He didn't use please with her. Albeit he didn't use please with a lot of people because he was used to making his requests almost like demands. Please made you appear less in charge of some of the more burly wizards in England. As for her first name versus her last name, she didn't use his either. He didn't understand why this was so important. He used last names with just about everyone who wasn't in his House. It put them all on a more equal playing field.

Or so he'd thought.

Shite. This had all gone arse-backwards all of a sudden.

Ernie rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing at the wet collar of his shirt. "Pat-- Padma. I don't think you're beneath me. In fact, out of all the people I've worked with since arriving here, you're the only one who really seems like you've got a head on your shoulders." He sighed. "Can we start over, maybe? Please?" He held out his hand. "Hi. Ernie Macmillan. Hufflepuff, junior minister, here to work on the Floo Network. You must be Padma. I hear we're going to be working together.

Her face softened and her shoulders dropped. "You're being ridiculous."

"Oh come on, it can't make anything worse, can it? And I'm _trying_."

It took a moment. Him standing there with his hand extended and her eyeing it sceptically. Finally she gave in, her slim hand clasping his and giving it a shake. For the first time in weeks, the two of them exchanged a smile. Maybe working on the Floo connections wouldn't be so terrible this time. Ernie let go of her hand and shoved one in his back pocket while the other still clasped the mashed up treat she'd given him to begin with.

"We should go back," she said, looking up to the sky.

Ernie's gaze followed. "A little cloud cover is going to send us running? I hardly think we have to worry about that."

No sooner than the words were out of his mouth than the first few drops of rain fell. Ernie shrugged it off because it seemed like the same kind of brief rainstorm that always snuck up on you in the highlands. There was a rumble and suddenly the clouds opened up and it seemed like all the rain in the entire _world _was coming down upon their heads. In a matter of seconds the two of them were soaked through.

"What the _hell_?!" exclaimed Ernie, holding his arms up over his head.

"I told you we should have gone back. Welcome to your first monsoon shower, Ernie. I'm surprised we haven't had one earlier in your stay." She should her head. Wet strands of hair clung to the side of her face.

"Good god, I thought it only started raining when there were no clouds in the sky. That's what your cinema things always showed."

Padma laughed. "India is _not _like a Bollywood film, Ernie. And on that point... Don't get it in your head that I'm going to start dancing and singing in the rain like I'm some sort of Aishwarya Rai. Because that's not going to happen."

Ernie raised his eyebrows. "Well that's a pity. I was actually starting to like that part of Indian culture."

She gave him a shove and they Apparated back to the Ministry to dry off.

***

After their argument in the gardens, things improved between Padma and Ernie. She became much more tolerant of his complaints and wasted no time in telling him to can it when he got too noisy about something that was upsetting him. Ernie became more open to newer experiences. He asked Padma to take him places around the country; one day a week they would go somewhere new. And it made the next month and a half fly by. He bought a miniature replica of the Taj for Hannah and made attempts with new things to eat. Though sometimes the latter had disastrous results.

But how was he supposed to know that he was ordering an extra spicy curry? And what had Padma done? Just sat there the whole time while he fanned the flames that he was certain were coming out of his mouth pretending to look surprised at his reaction. After that, he decided to stick to only mild butter chicken or something with korma in the name. He made Padma teach him the Punjabi word for mild just to be sure that he was ordering correctly.

"Padma, I think you should take me to see this Qutub Minar thing tomorrow," Ernie said, coming into the office, his nose buried in a pamphlet. "And then this iron pillar thing too. I already know you're going to make some comment about it being all Freudian, Ravenclaw, so don't even try. This has nothing to do with a phallic fixation, I swear."

Upon looking up from the pamphlet, Ernie realised that Padma was not alone and his face flamed red. The rotund older man standing next to Ernie's desk had a scowl on his face that Ernie swore up and down was a permanent feature. He folded his arms over his chest and waited for Ernie to set down his things. Padma was standing off to the side looking at the floor. She disliked drop in visits from the higher Ministers as much as Ernie did. Fat old coots didn't know the first thing about the practical application of their decisions. It was all, 'how much longer', 'you're behind schedule' and Ernie's personal favourite, 'it really shouldn't be so difficult.'

"_Sat Sri Akal_, Mr Gupta. We haven't seen you down in our neck of the woods for a long time. You got our last report, yes?"

"That is correct Mr Macmillan. The committee has asked me to approach you with some concerns regarding what they feel are unnecessary extravagances and expenditures." He tucked his hand into the pocket of his waistcoat, looking rather like an Indian Churchill. At least that was Ernie's opinion.

"Mr Gupta, the most recent tally of figures shows that we're under budget," said Padma, reaching for the ledger on her desk. "In fact, some of the changes that Ernie has implemented has brought down our costs..."

The senior wizard turned and gave Padma what looked to be a patronising sort of smile and Ernie would have put down solid galleons that Gupta was about to pat her on the head and tell her to be good. It wasn't the first time he'd witnessed this behaviour. It certainly became more apparent once she'd let him know that this was how it had always been for her. His hand clenched, squashing the pamphlet he'd been holding. This sort of behaviour was ridiculous.

"Miss Patil," Gupta placed a meaty hand on her shoulder. "Would you mind fetching us some coffee like a good girl? Mr Macmillan and I have much to discuss and I wouldn't want to worry you with all the details. If you don't mind."

Yet the way he said made Ernie think that Gupta didn't care either way if Padma minded.

"Hang on," he said, putting up his hand. "Don't do that. Padma is an important part of this project and I won't have you just sending her off to fetch and carry like that. I don't care who you are."

"Ernie!" Padma gasped from near the door.

"No, Padma. Enough is enough." He turned on Gupta. "You've got a brilliant employee in Padma Patil and all you're using her for is one step above a office clerk. She's put just as much, if not more, work into your country's Floo network than anyone I have seen on this team. She stays late and arrives early and you and your bloody _committee_ are more concerned about her sex than you are about a job well done. She could have single-handedly run this entire project without me if you had given her the chance, but instead you wrote off to a foreign government to get someone else because somehow in your ruddy _backwards_ thinking she's not good enough." And then Ernie did something to a Ministry official that he had never done before. He reached out and prodded Gupta in the middle of his chest. "Well you, sir, are wrong. She is more than good enough. She's probably the smartest damn employee you've got in this entire building and you're too pig-headed to even see that!"

Gupta's face had gone red and his mouth opened and closed as if he was looking for a cutting remark to shout back.

Ernie crossed his arms. "Now. Unless you have some genuine concerns about the safety of this project or the deadline, _then _come to us. But as long as we're under budget and ahead of schedule, which we are now, no thanks to anyone but that amazing young woman standing over there, you can show yourself out. Unless you'd rather we just not finish at all!"

"I'll be writing to your superiors," Gupta huffed and pointed an accusing figure at Ernie. "I knew it was a mistake to let you into the country. You'll be out of a job by the end of this contract!" He stormed out of the office, leaving a shocked Padma and a still-fuming Ernie in his wake.

"I can't believe you just did that," she said, her eyes wide as she stared out the door, watching Gupta round the corner and disappear from sight.

"Name one thing that wasn't true," Ernie said, his still hunched and tight with fury. "Bloody wanker."

It felt rather liberating to shout all those things. And yet as the fury started to disappear, Ernie started to realise what he'd just done. He had, for the most part, just torn a strip off of his direct superior. He'd acted completely out of character and he'd gotten mad. But it wasn't as though he was mad at Gupta for being the boss who doesn't care, but mad at Gupta for being the insufferable pig that he was. It made him angry. He didn't like seeing her treated like this. Oh dear god, he was probably going to lose his job! What was he going to do? This was a disaster!

"Everything's going to get terribly worse for you, isn't it?" he asked after a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying not to reel from the fact that he was going to be out of work.

"I don't care," she answered.

"What?" He looked up.

There was a small smile on her face and she was standing close to him. He'd not even realised that she moved. "I don't care," Padma said and flung her arms over his shoulders, pressing her lips against his.

Ernie didn't get kissed by girls. That is to say, he'd kissed girls. He snuck a few from Hannah until they both decided that it wasn't going to work and they were better off as good friends instead. He'd snogged that girl from Beauxbatons after the Yule Ball but nothing ever came out of that except this hard-on that lasted for at least three hours. But he usually initiated it. Girls didn't come to him. They didn't flirt with him unless he flirted first. They certainly didn't tackle him in an office, winding themselves around him and kissing him until he was dizzy as Padma Patil was in the process of doing.

By God he _liked _it.

She was the one to start it. She was also the one to pull back. Just enough that their lips parted. Though he tried very hard, leaning forward, to follow her with his mouth and not quite ready to give it up.

There were questions. There were many questions and he wanted to ask all of them. Except he didn't. He just wanted to pull her into his arms again, finding out whether or not he had dreamed just now that her lips were as sweet as jaangiri. He wanted to envelope her, all breezy fabric and sudden downpours. This was a strange new experience for him. To be completely awash with unquestioning _need _for contact with another human being. And he really, _really _wanted to be in contact with Padma Patil.

She was still within reach and his hand went from her shoulder, down her arm to her wrist. Clasping his hand around the circumference of it, he tugged her close. "I'm planning to kiss you again," he said, trying not to be embarrassed by the husky sound of his voice.

"Are you now?"

"After that," He cupped his hand against her cheek. "I'm probably going to kiss you a third time. And it might end up continuing."

There was a rather mischievous glint in her eyes that he'd never seen before. "Do you think that's a good idea?"

He smiled. "I think it's a particularly brilliant idea. One of my best. And I do have brilliant ideas so very often."

A laugh. A laugh that caused a flutter to go through his body from his chest down to his toes. Padma slid her arms around him. "Well. Who am I to argue in the face of brilliant ideas?"

"Exactly." He closed the space between them.

***

_Dear Hannah,_

_You really should get out of the country more often and see some of the more exotic lands of this world! It's terribly fascinating and now that the Floo Network is stable here, I think I'm taking some time off to travel. Padma's coming with me. She gave her notice at the Indian Ministry and is coming back to England after this is all said and done. I think it'll be good for her._

_Good for me too._

_Tell Zacharias that, as much as it pains me to admit, I grudgingly accept that he was right. I did find something I liked in India._

_Sincerely,_

_Ernie Macmillan Esq._

Hannah put aside the letter and reached into her apron pocket, holding out a galleon to Zacharias. "You win."

"Easiest galleon I ever made, Hannah-banana," Zacharias said with a wink and tucked the coin into his pocket.


End file.
